Harry Potter and the Alchemist's Apprentice
by Elvenlaughter
Summary: James and Lily Potter struggle to protect their family in 1981, while twenty years in the future, their only son fights to end the war that has come close to consuming his life. AU, DH disregarded.
1. Prologue

Author's Notes: This story is not finished, although a good portion of it has been written, and it has been mapped out in its entirety. I do not know how consistent a poster I will be, and I am sure that there will be long spaces between chapters sometimes, because life intervenes, and my education and RL come first. That being said, I am very much enjoying the crafting of this fic, and as each chapter is read, revised, edited, and beta'd, I will be sure to get it up here as soon as I can. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated. Flames are not. Constructive criticism is. A thank you in advance to anyone who reads, but does not review. I hope that you enjoy. Grace and peace, nai aistale hildareva hilya le.

-_Minou_

Disclaimer: This is not mine. I own nothing in the Harry Potter world, except the plot that is being portrayed within these pages. The wonderful JK Rowling is the creator of this world, and I am grateful to her for allowing me, like many others, to dabble in it out of a great love and appreciation for what she has made.

And now, on with the prologue.

* * *

_Prologue_

"Have you completely lost what little mind you had?"

"You talk too much. Let me work."

"This is never going to work."

"You don't know that."

"You can't do this. It goes against every Magical law there is, not to mention every scientific and biological rule in existence!"

"Magic by its very nature goes against Muggle science. That's not the sort of argument I'd expect you to come up with. I generally have a harder time deflecting them."

"This whole operation is madness! Have you even considered the consequences if you should fail?"

"I won't fail. I'm not the failing sort."

"This is insane. You're not qualified…"

"I know what I'm doing."

"No you don't, this is purely conjecture. You're trying to piece together a theory that doesn't exist!"

"It does exist."

"Because you thought of it?"

"No, I didn't, actually. I found it. It's credible. Now be quiet, I need to think."

"It's credible because you found it? That's not the sort of argument I'd expect _you_ to come up with."

"I guess we're both being surprising today, aren't we?"

"It's too dangerous. It's not just yourself you're putting at risk, it's me, and everybody else in the Wizarding World!"

"I'm willing to take that risk."

"You're going to regret this."

"No I'm not."

"You're going to get yourself killed."

"No I'm not."

"You're going to get other people killed."

"That is the general idea."

"You're crazy."

"So I've been told."


	2. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

For the sake of this story, Sirius is the Potters' original secret keeper. It begins Marauder era, but will eventually move to Post-HBP. I will insert more notes at that point.

* * *

"_To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure." – Albus Dumbledore _

_Chapter 1: The Letter_

James Potter breathed deeply as he strolled down the main road of Godric's Hollow, squinting into the last vestiges of the day's sunlight now slipping over the horizon. The October air was brisk, but not chill enough to merit any more than a sweater. James was blissfully happy. Voldemort, the dark wizard who was terrorizing the wizarding world at the time, had been lying low due to a foiled raid some days back, and so James felt confident enough to take a brief stroll through the village with little more than a notice-me-not charm to protect him from unwanted attention. Almost two years ago he and his wife Lily had gone into hiding, and now they shared their lives with a third member: a one and a half year old baby boy. James smiled. Green-eyed Harry was always laughing and always into mischief, except for when he was sitting still with a thoughtful expression on his face as if he were pondering deep, important questions. Of course, James considered, he probably was. With the baby's godfather Sirius around to corrupt him, James had no doubt that his dark-haired toddler would become the next terror of Hogwarts. Not that he minded; it was precisely what he hoped for.

James shook his head and laughed slightly. Dear Padfoot. The greatest friend he had ever, or would ever have, but possibly the most juvenile as well. Still, James had never been a paragon of maturity himself. Remus had alternately protested and turned a blind eye to the two of them. And Peter… well he was just Peter. The tagalong, the follower; the one who had strayed farthest from the foursome after school and who was rarely around anymore.

James rounded the bend and looked up at his house, a light smile playing across his lips. It was a lovely house, what with the excellent interior decorating and passable landscaping. The house had two floors with several windows each, and the walls were draped in curtains of rich green ivy. The uneven front walkway was hidden under a layer of fallen leaves that James scuffed with his worn boots as he approached the door. From inside, he could just make out the sound of Lily's agitated voice telling him come inside already and help with the dishes. He grinned. Somehow, he felt that nothing could upset him tonight.

He was nearly to the door when a peculiar feeling swept over him, as if the protective wards around the house had been momentarily interrupted. He froze and then spun on the spot, his wand out and in his hand so quickly it could have jumped there. There was another feeling now, one of being watched. No, not watched, he noted, as the hair on the back of his neck began prickling. He was being observed, studied… scrutinized. He looked down the path behind him, and saw nothing. The wind was teasing the tree branches, and a squirrel was chirring angrily from the belly of the forest, but there was no movement, no shadow - just that lingering feeling of eyes calculating him from somewhere nearby.

The feeling passed a mere moment after it had struck him, and the wards settled. For close to a minute James stood motionless, before carefully turning the doorknob and slipping inside the house. Ever cautious, he looked behind him again before shutting the door and performing a complicated locking charm on it. Remus had charmed the blinds to repel unfriendly spells one day while visiting with Sirius, and James silently thanked his friend as he shut them. He paused at the last window, staring out for several moments before covering it and turning away. He was too easily shaken, he thought, even after two years. The fidelius charm protected the house, and a series of complex wards surrounded the grounds. No one could find the place, and even if they could, they would never be able to get in.

"James?" came Lily's cautious voice from the kitchen.

"I'm back," he answered. "Lils, did you happen to feel anything happen just now? With the wards, maybe?"

"I thought I might've felt something, and I saw you draw your wand. Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure. I thought for a moment that – oh, I don't even know. Something felt off. Like there was a disruption in the wards, but it passed so quickly. I'm thinking now it could have just been a large animal." He walked over to the kitchen window and peered out into the yard, which seemed so much darker now that he was in a well-lit room.

"Could an animal do that?" asked Lily, following him to the window.

James shrugged. "I'm not sure. I would have said no earlier, but after this?" He shook his head again. "Maybe we should ask Dumbledore. For the meantime, just keep on the alert." He looked around. "Is Harry in bed?"

"No, he's in one of the cupboards, I think," said Lily casually. "He slept so long this afternoon that he was too energized to go to sleep now. I'd rather have him where I can keep an eye on him than be worried about him hurting himself trying to apparate through the bars of his cot."

"You are the only mother I know who willingly shuts her child up in a cupboard to keep an eye on him," smirked James.

"He likes playing with the pots. No harm done," she said, still staring into the darkness. "Get him out, if you like."

James grinned at his wife and crossed the kitchen with a few easy strides. As he opened the cupboard door two small hands flew up to hide a pink baby face, and a high-pitched giggle emerged from around the fingers. James gasped in mock consternation.

"Oh no! Where's Harry?" he cried. "Has he disappeared?" Harry giggled again and pressed his palms hard against his eyes.

"Where is he? Is that him? Is that the little troublemaker?" James began to tickle his son's tummy as the child wriggled in excitement. Then, with a little squeal, Harry's hands flew from his face to reveal a wide, toothy grin. "There he is!" cried James, and swung his son out and around the room. The man noted that his son had gotten some dust on his face, and he reached towards the sink for a washcloth. Lily leaned out of his way and he noted that she was washing the dinner dishes by hand.

"Old habits die hard," she said when he raised an eyebrow at her. "I was born and raised in a Muggle home, after all."

James began to wipe Harry's face with the wet cloth, but as Harry struggled to avoid it his bright green eyes found the window above the sink and he hollered excitedly, "See! See!" James turned abruptly, but saw nothing.

"What is it, Prongslet?" He queried, but Harry merely stuck his finger in his mouth and kept staring at the window.

"That's the third time he's done that this evening. He gets so excited, the way he does when he sees you or Sirius come by." Lily dried her hands on a blue checked dishtowel and placed a polished glass carefully back on a shelf with its fellows. "I haven't seen anything at all when I've looked out, though."

James frowned. "On my way into the house I felt for a moment like I was being watched or followed, but there wasn't anything there when I looked, either. I charmed the door shut and drew the shades just in case."

Lily turned sharply. "But there couldn't be anyone out there. I mean, Sirius..."

"We'd know if Voldemort had him," said James shortly. "And he wouldn't sneak around as a joke. He'd know it wasn't funny."

Suddenly Harry gave another shriek and pointed with renewed urgency, this time at a window across the room. "See! See! Boo adda widow!"

"Something's at the window, sweetheart? Show Mommy," encouraged Lily, taking the squirming child from her husband. They examined the space they could see in the graying light from the disappearing sun. There was no one there. Nor was there any sign of someone ever having been there, but as James looked up he started in surprise.

"James, what is it?"

James shook his head and looked again before he spoke. "I thought I saw a shadow on the edge of the woods there.."

"A shadow?"

"Like a large creature or a man was moving about, or running away," said James grimly. "I'm going to floo Sirius and see if he's alright. Stay away from the windows, Evans."

Lily nodded. James only called her Evans when he was dead serious about something, and it never did any good to argue with him at those times. She followed him into the living room and watched as James tossed a pinch of powder into the grate and stuck his head in the resulting flames.

"Sirius?" he called urgently, but there was no answer. "Padfoot, are you in, old friend?"

More silence. "SIRIUS!" he yelled a third time.

"All right all right, keep your shirt on!" came an amused voice to his left. There was Sirius, coffee in hand and a smile on his face, his maroon dressing gown tied haphazardly around his middle. James could feel his face relax as relief flooded through him. Sirius noted this and immediately became concerned. "Hey, Prongs, what's up?"

"Are you okay?" asked James.

"Umm... yeah, I'm fabulous. Moony and I were just finishing off this pot of coffee and then we were going to head up. Why?"

Remus appeared next to Sirius, a look of confusion and uncertainty on his tired face. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, Moony. I think there might be someone skulking around my house. Harry keeps saying he sees someone at the window..."

"Pull out James, we're coming through."

James hastily pulled his head out of the fire and a moment later Sirius and Remus stepped out of the fireplace and into the Potter's living room. Remus' dressing gown, James noted with some amusement, was very neatly tied and wrinkle-free. "Now, Prongs, what's this all about?" asked Sirius.

"Harry may have seen something out the window, and James felt the wards change a little, and thought he was being watched," explained Lily, handing her excited infant to his equally excited godfather. "Then a moment ago he thought he saw something in the woods."

"I know that nobody can find us if you don't personally convey the information, so naturally I was worried about you," finished James.

"No, I'm fine, and I haven't told anybody anything, aside from the ones you already know about."

"I don't think we've been careless enough to let anybody intercept letters, and we never actually say the address out loud, so nobody could've overheard anything," said Remus. "Are you sure there's something there?"

"No, I'm not, but I don't think Harry's likely to get so worked up by just seeing an animal. He reacts most strongly to people. And it doesn't hurt to be cautious."

Sirius walked over to the window and glanced outside. The Potters took great care in never leaving anything outside in plain sight, even with all the protective wards on the property. "I don't see anything from here. But hang on a bit, I'll go outside and look around."

"No!" cried Lily. "Sirius, what if someone _is_ out there and something happens to you?"

"I'll be fine!"

"She's right Padfoot," cut in James. "We can't afford to lose you."

"But we should check..." Sirius protested.

"I'll go," said Remus quietly. The others looked at him. "It's a simple matter, really," continued Remus. "We need to know what's going on here. I'm expendable. You lot aren't."

"Don't you dare call yourself expendable, Remus John!" shouted Lily, her cheeks flushing. "You are just as important as any of us!"

"In some ways that may be true, but you can't deny that it is the three of you who would be the greatest losses. If Sirius was caught, you could be found, and if either of you were caught, that sort of defeats the purpose of the fidelius, doesn't it? That leaves me."

James thought for a brief second, and then nodded, and Remus headed for the front door with his wand grasped firmly in his hand. He carefully turned the knob and peered outside for a moment before stepping into the gathering dusk. The others watched him carefully from the windows as he took one quick circuit around the house to check doors and windows for signs of recent entry, and then began a methodical search of the grounds. He remained outside for a full ten minutes before turning back to the house, apparently satisfied that there was at least no immediate danger.

As Remus rounded the corner back to the front door he stopped short, and then broke into a run. James rushed to the window and tensed. An unfamiliar owl was swooping towards the Potters' door with a piece of bluish parchment attached to its leg. The location of the house was not common knowledge, and all of the Potters' mail was carefully diverted to Remus unless it came from the Longbottoms or Peter, and none of them had an owl like this. It was small and fluffy, a grayish brown color similar to the hue of the leftover milk in a cereal bowl, and it had uncommonly large feet and a rather fierce expression. James frowned. They never got mail here. The only thing he could think of was that someone had at last broken the unbreakable barriers and they had been discovered.

Remus reached the door a split second before the owl and nearly collided with it, throwing up a hand to shield his face and falling against the door with a thud. The owl pulled up with an annoyed hoot just before colliding with Remus' chest and settled for a particularly ungraceful landing on the man's head. It cocked its head to one side, eyeing its new perch reproachfully, and slid down to chew on the inviting fuzziness of Remus' impeccably kept nightwear.

Sirius sidled up to the door and called out, "Moony, can you see who it's from?"

"Hang on a mo'." Remus reached up and turned the parchment so he could see the name scrawled there, narrowly escaping a vicious bite. "Strange," he said.

"What?" asked James.

"It says, _To Mr. Remus John Lupin, to be given into the hands of Mr. James Charlus Potter_," he read. "There's no return on it. Should I bring him in?" The owl gave an indignant squawk. "Sorry, bring her in?"

Sirius directed a silent question at James, and then ushered Remus into the house, where there were immediately two wands trained on the mysterious owl. Lily was standing back slightly, holding an interested Harry. Remus gently set the bird on the entry hall table, and Sirius reached forward to remove the letter. For a moment the owl didn't react, as she was busy returning the baby's curious stare, but once she felt Sirius' fingers fumbling around her leg she gave an enormous hop and let out an indignant screech, accompanied by a few punitive pecks on the wrist.

"Dratted bird!" cried Sirius, rubbing his sore wrist with a handkerchief.

"She wouldn't let me take it, either," said Remus, "Which is strange considering it's actually addressed to me."

"But it also says to give it to James, so maybe only he can take it," Sirius suggested. He raised his wand and muttered a few incantations. "It's not cursed at least."

"Well, let's see what this is about then," said James, stepping forward. He held out a hand and the owl cooperatively stuck out her leg for him. Once the message was off she circled their heads a few times and flew off to investigate the kitchen. Harry watched her go with intense fascination.

James sat down at the hall table and carefully unfolded the mysterious parchment and read over it twice, once quickly, then again with more attention. As he read, his brows knit together in a frown.

"Well?" prodded Sirius, trying to read the letter upside down. James immediately shielded it from his friend's scrutiny.

"Hang on, Padfoot. Let me think." He pursed his lips. "Let's go sit in the kitchen, shall we?"

They gathered in the kitchen, where the owl had located and was nibbling at a bowl of fruit. James stared thoughtfully at her while tapping the letter on the table.

"Let's have it, James," said Remus at last, when he felt his friend had been given enough time to mull things over.

James seemed slightly startled as he looked up. "Ah, right," he said, "I'll just read it out loud and you lot tell me what you make of it." He cleared his throat and began.

"_To James Potter - with kindest regards._

_Dear Sir, before I say anything else, let me assure you that I have nothing but your family's best interests at heart. I know you may very well question this, and I do not blame you. I of course sent your letter via another because I found that my owl was unable to deliver one directly to you (hence the disturbance you no doubt felt earlier). A characteristic of the fidelius, I believe. As for my knowing how to reach you at all, I discovered your whereabouts on my own, and your secret keeper remains both faithful and anonymous. I have no intention of disclosing my information to any other party, and work for no one but myself, and you._

_With that out of the way, I would like to request a meeting with you, alone. I will gladly surrender my wand to you and submit to a search if you so desire. My reason for requesting this audience is that I have valuable information regarding your family's well being, and especially that of your son. I ask for nothing other than your attention. If you agree to let me speak with you, kindly send a response back with my owl, and inform me of what you would like me to do in regards to my wand. My only conditions for this meeting--"_

"Aha!" said Sirius. "I knew there had to be a catch."

"_--are these:_

_Firstly, that you and you alone speak with me, and that all precautions be taken to ensure that we are not overheard. Secondly, that you agree to grant me safe passage to and from your house, regardless of whether or not you accept my information. Thirdly, that you hear me out, however strange or farfetched my story seems, and that you do not press me for more details than I am willing to disclose. Fourthly and lastly, that you do not ask to see my face or know my name until I choose to reveal them, if at all._

_If these conditions are agreeable to you, then I will meet you at your door at 10:00. This ensures the least amount of risk for both of us, as it will be completely dark at that time, and I have discovered that your wards are regenerated every 24 hours and will be strongest at this time. Yes, I did figure that out on my own, and no, I don't believe anyone but me could have discovered that. Thank you for reading this through. If you refuse, rest assured that you will never again hear from me. I eagerly await your response._

_Yours Respectfully…"_

And James finished reading. There was a silence in the kitchen, broken only by the owl's soft hoots and Harry's contented burbling. The baby had left his mother's lap and crawled towards the owl, which was pecking at crumbs under the counter. Lily had hardly noticed him leave. No one knew quite what to say. The letter sounded friendly enough, but the most evil of men could use the sweetest speech. Voldemort himself had used his silver tongue to worm his way into power.

"That's it? No name at all?" asked Lily.

"None."

"I don't like it," said Sirius suddenly. "How the devil did he find you? And who would be looking for you anyway? Besides the obvious, I mean. And why alone?"

James shook his head. "I was hoping one of you could tell me."

"It's not an accident, it's not a prank. We can figure that out just because of the nature of the wards. So somebody specifically sought you out, and somehow managed to break through all our spells and everything, found your house, and even analyzed the security system without anyone knowing. He didn't even trip the intruder alert." Sirius stared incredulously at the paper that James had set down on the table. "How did he get through? And what the hell does he want?"

"I don't think he's working for You-Know-Who," said Remus thoughtfully. "If he was, he wouldn't have bothered to send a letter. If he got through the wards and wanted to kill anyone, he would've just done it."

"Not necessarily. Who's to say he couldn't get around the property wards but not the house wards? He could know the house is here and just need a way to get inside. He couldn't send a direct letter, could he? But once he's in, he's home free. He could even have his pals waiting around to blast us to pieces if we open the door."

"True," said Remus, rubbing his chin. "But we can't be sure of that. He sounds pretty genuine."

"Yeah, well a hinkypunk seems pretty genuine until you fall into a swamp," said Sirius.

"I walked all the way around the house earlier."

"But it would have defeated the purpose to kill you then and let us know there were plots afoot, or whatever."

"True."

"But that doesn't answer the question of how he got here in the first place," said Lily. "Dumbledore set up the wards himself."

"Everybody makes mistakes."

"I know, Sirius, but... I mean, he set them up so carefully. The only logical way anybody could have found us would be if they were told directly by you or if they'd been here when the spell was cast."

"That wouldn't make sense," said Remus. "Why didn't they turn up before now? They would have had two whole years of knowing where you are. If that were the truth and the person in question was a Death Eater, as Sirius suspects, you would have been dead a long time ago."

A brief silence followed this declaration as everybody retreated into his or her own thoughts for a moment. Harry poked the owl in its downy chest and it shuffled sideways just out of the baby's reach with something resembling a growl.

"It must have been some spell this guy used to cancel out the fidelius," said Sirius. "That's powerful dark magic, I'd bet."

"But the fidelius is as strong a spell as you can find anywhere, isn't it? I don't think anything can break it."

"It doesn't have to break it, I suppose. Just get around it somehow. Maybe someone found a loophole."

"It's possible, I suppose," murmured Lily.

"Or not," said Remus. "I think we may be going around this in the wrong way. What if this person really is a friend, and really does want to help you out, James?"

"Stop playing devil's advocate, Moony," grumbled Sirius.

"Someone ought to; might as well be me."

"It's true," said Lily, "we have no real reason to trust or distrust this person, but he has offered to turn himself in, defenceless, and given us permission to search him. That bodes well."

"Could be a trap," insisted Sirius.

"That's quite an interesting trap, don't you think?" mused Remus. "I don't think that turning oneself in defenceless is going to help matters on their end, whoever they are. We don't even know if it's a 'they.' The letter said this person is working alone."

"And why would he work alone, then? To get something valuable, to get personal glory from someone he believes can give it to him?" said Sirius. "It's happened before."

"What could he possibly hope to gain from this, though? I mean, he'd be overpowered in a moment."

"Then he can't be working alone, can he? I still think it's a trap. It's a bloody set-up."

"Well, I suppose," said Lily thoughtfully, "but then, anyone who offers information regarding my son's well-being --"

"I don't know, Lily. It's extremely risky. There's so much at stake here," said Remus, rubbing his chin as he always did when he was unsure of something. "I don't think we should discredit him, but I don't think we should welcome him in with open arms either. I mean, let's not forget that he did get through the wards, and that means he must be exceptionally strong."

"I agree with Lily," said James suddenly.

The others turned and looked at him in surprise. This was the first time James had spoken a word throughout the entire exchange.

"But... why?" asked Sirius incredulously.

"Firstly, because what she says makes sense. I have a feeling as well that this person can be believed, if not entirely trusted, and so for the time being I am giving him the benefit of the doubt."

"You can't be serious --"

"Yes, Padfoot, I am. You can tell a lot about a man's intentions by his familiar's behavior. Look at his owl." The others obliged. "Harry has been poking and prodding that poor beast during the entirety of our little conversation. She's even let him pet her a few times. She's not overtly friendly by any means, but she's not attacking him, which means she doesn't feel threatened. That implies that she has been well treated, which reflects well on her owner. Beyond that, it's obvious there's nothing we can do about being discovered now. We already have been, but this way we can at least keep an eye on the bugger and obliviate him if necessary. You know, keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

James held up a hand as Sirius and Remus began to protest. "Look, I didn't say I was just going to let him waltz in here. He will be thoroughly searched, and required to relinquish his wand at the door, and I am not going to trust him yet. If he's working for himself, he could be hoping to get something out of advising us. There are numerous harmful and unpleasant possibilities, but there are also beneficial ones. Information, good or bad, is precious right now, and the people who are willing to give it are few and far between. And in the case of a scuffle, we do outnumber him significantly."

Before the others could comment on this, James whipped out a quill and scribbled a response on a napkin. It read:

"_I accept, on the condition that my friends and family remain in the room, armed, and that they be privy to everything but the nature of the conversation. I will cast a silencing charm around the two of us. You will push your wand through the mail slot and enter the house with your hands above your head. You will submit to a thorough search, and will then be escorted at wand point into the dining room. Neither I nor my friends will lower their wands, and you will keep your hands on the table and visible at all times. Your owl will also remain in sight throughout the interview. You will not touch anyone or anything in the room. You will leave when I ask. If you are prepared to acquiesce to these conditions, then I will see you at 10:00. However, if you should attempt to harm my family in any way, then may God have mercy on your soul, because I certainly won't._

_Yours respectfully,_

_James C. Potter_

"Ha, that'll warn the skunk. Well said, Prongs," said Sirius.

Remus also heartily approved of the letter's tone, and James handed it to Lily, who skimmed it and attached it to the owl's leg. The owl, in turn, soared immediately through the window Remus opened for her. She seemed to know that they would be observing her path, for she flew erratically before finally disappearing to the left of the house, though Remus distinctly remembered her approaching from the right.

"Smart bird," commented Sirius, as Harry whimpered in disappointment that his new friend had left so soon.

Several minutes passed, and the clock indicated that it was now nearly 8:30. James was beginning to feel quite nervous that he had been put on or fallen for a clever ruse when the owl reappeared at the window, carrying James' note with two more lines freshly inked on the back.

"_Yes, I accept. My owl will remain with you for now, as she seems to have taken a liking to your son. I will see you shortly."_

James looked up. "Well, that's that," he said. They settled down to wait.


	3. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2: Conversations_

Time passed slower than an icicle forming. Nine o'clock came and went with Sirius pacing the room in agitation, checking the clock every few minutes. Remus had sensibly realized the futility of such an action and was poring over the bookshelf, searching for something to absorb the wait. James stood by Remus for a little while, restlessly fiddling with the arrangement of the volumes, before sitting motionless in a chair by the newly kindled fire, and watching his son and the mysterious owl interacting on the carpet. The moment Harry's hands became a little too rough, the owl flew up and perched stiffly on the back of a nearby chair. It was obvious Harry had wounded her dignity. Lily had done what she always did when she was restless: escaped to the kitchen. At 9:24 she emerged with a pot of fresh coffee and a tray of scones.

"Sirius, sit down and eat something before you walk through the carpet," she said, handing her husband a cup. Remus detached himself from the bookshelf and gratefully accepted a scone, foregoing the coffee. Sirius stuffed a scone in his mouth and washed it down with two full cups of coffee in quick succession. He then resumed his pacing. With an aggravated sigh, Lily pulled out her wand and charmed him into a nearby chair. The owl promptly began attacking Sirius' trainers, much to the man's chagrin. He could do nothing at all to stop her whilst Lily's spell held him captive.

Remus returned to the bookshelf and continued to scan the titles, commenting as he went. "_An Auror's Pocket Guide to the Dark Arts _– huh, fat lot of good it'll be in your pocket. _Weisenheimer's Anthology of Curses _– useful, if you can get through it. I didn't know you had this!" he cried, pulling a worn blue volume from the shelf and leafing through it.

"What is it?" asked James.

"_Methods in Potion Making_, by Ivan Brewer. Is this the same Brewer who was a couple years ahead of us, helped out in my sixth year class? Smart guy with weird ideas?"

"One and the same," said James, standing up to come over. "I bought that last year at a second hand sale. A little eccentric, but useful, and always good for a laugh."

"Since when did you toodle with potions anyway? Isn't that Lily's area?" asked Sirius. James shrugged. "And speaking of which, why bother with a book when the top student of our year lives in your house? Can't she just –"

Lily swatted him across the back of the head. "Honestly, Sirius! I've always held that you boys should do your own work."

"But you're married!" protested Sirius. "Shouldn't that make a difference?"

"No," answered Lily.

"She's got more than enough to do around here without getting caught up in my work, anyway," said James.

"A fair amount more than you do, Mr. I-won't-help-teach-my-son-good-behavior-because-it's-no-fun," shot Lily. "And you're no better, Mr. My-only-role-as-a-godfather-is-to-corrupt-innocent-children," Lily continued; now directing her remarks at an abashed Sirius.

"Just leave it, Sirius," said Remus, as Sirius opened his mouth to continue the argument. Sirius adopted a very convincing pout and Lily swept back out of the room with the empty coffee pot, smirking at Sirius over her shoulder.

Sirius turned to James, a look of extreme incredulity on his face. "She's barmy, mate, you know that?"

James gave a crooked smile and shrugged, causing Remus to laugh out loud. "Impressive. The James I knew in school would never let her have the last word."

"The James you knew in school was a prat," said James, a grin spreading across his face as he continued to stare at the door through which his wife had disappeared moments before.

"You're_ still_ a prat," muttered Sirius.

"Come off it, Padfoot. You're just jealous because the most beautiful girl in the school snagged your best friend and ignored you," laughed Remus.

"That is something I will never understand. We were all equally idiotic by her standards, except perhaps Remus, so why _not_ me?"

"Because I believed there was hope for James," said Lily. She was leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed and a dangerous glint in her eye. "He grew up. You, on the other hand, will never stop being fifteen."

"Hey," cried Sirius, "That's not fair!"

"Spoken like a true teenager," commented Lily mildly.

James and Remus rolled their eyes at each other and shut out the conversation. Lily and Sirius could go at each other for inordinately long periods of time, insulting and one-upping each other until neither could hold a straight face, and then they would laugh and comment on each other's wit. James sat by the fire and let Harry crawl up into his lap as Remus turned his attention back to the bookshelf.

Remus was surprised at the quantity of Dark Arts books James owned. He let his eyes drift over the rows before resting on one particularly beautiful tome, bound with dragonhide and embossed with gold. He hooked a finger into the spine and gently pulled it out from the surrounding curse books. There was something special about this book, he could tell as soon as he picked it up. He could feel the crackle of active magic against his fingers as he gently eased the cover open to the title page. His eyes darted over the words and widened in surprise. He whispered the title under his breath, and noted with interest that it was handwritten. There was no author listed, but James had scrawled his name near the bottom of the page.

"James, what is this?" Remus called out.

The brown-eyed man glanced up and froze. "Umm… nothing interesting," he said all too quickly.

Sirius, with his uncanny ability to sense when someone was uncomfortable, looked up with great interest. He and Lily both noted the book in Remus' thin hands, and while Sirius' eyes lit up, Lily bit her lip nervously and glanced at her husband.

"What is it, Moony?" queried Sirius.

Remus looked back down and read off the title again, this time out loud. "_Forgiving the Unforgivable – Theories Regarding Wizardkind's Most Feared Curses_. But it's mostly handwritten, with some pages glued in from other books, and there's no author…"

"A book on the Unforgivables? You actually have one, James? Can I see – confound it Lily, let me up already!" barked Sirius, straining against the magic that held him to his chair. Once Lily had absentmindedly released the spell, Sirius bounded over to peer at the book. "Oy, James, it's got your name on –" He didn't get more than a quick glance, though, before James leapt up and snatched it.

Remus looked up in surprise. "Prongs?" There was a brief silence and then he spoke again. "Why do you even have this? Everyone in the Order knows how much you hate the Dark Arts, especially the Unforgivables."

"And why is your name on the title page?" asked Sirius.

"Because it's his book, you great goat."

"No, it's where the author's name should go, and it's the only name here." Sirius captured James' eyes with his darker ones. "Did you write this?" James sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "You did, didn't you?" pressed Sirius.

"I don't suppose I could convince you both to just forget you ever saw this?" said James.

"No," they answered simultaneously.

"I thought not." James lowered himself wearily into the armchair Sirius had vacated. Lily came to stand behind him and gently rubbed his shoulders. "I just… I don't know how you could've found that. I usually hide it so carefully, so people would just glance over it if they saw it. I must have been really tired last time I had it out, and forgotten to renew the charms." He sighed and massaged his forehead wearily. On the carpet, Harry was unconcernedly playing with his fingers.

"I guess I'd have to tell you eventually, and I did promise myself that I wouldn't lie if one of you asked me something about this."

"Well, I'm asking. This is getting more intriguing by the minute, and you know how much I love unearthing a good secret," said Sirius.

James sighed again. "You might as well sit down, you two."

When they were settled, Remus on the couch and Sirius sprawled doglike on the floor by Harry, James spoke. "How much do you know about my connection to the Dark Arts?" he asked.

"You hate them," was Sirius' prompt reply.

Remus attempted a more thoughtful approach, as was his wont. "You have little or nothing to do with them if you can help it, and you never voluntarily studied them in school. You despised our defense classes, even though you understood why they were necessary," he said. "You witnessed the Killing Curse in action the year after we graduated while on assignment for the Order, and you haven't been on active duty since. There's been a running debate in the Order about whether there was another reason you avoided combat, though."

"Thank you, Loquacious Lupin, for putting us illiterate clods in our place," grumbled Sirius. "You talk like a bloody professor."

"And what about my day job?" asked James, ignoring Sirius.

"Umm…" Remus furrowed his brow at Sirius, who shrugged. "You work at home, mostly. We've never really talked about it that much. You always change the subject when it comes up."

"All we really know is that you inherited enough money from your parents that if you wanted, you'd never have to work another day in your life, so if you _are_ actually working, it's either got to be something you love, or else something you consider worth torturing yourself over. I mean, I know I wouldn't work if I had that kind of money."

"You don't work anyway, Padfoot, not really," said Remus fondly. "Just for the Order, and they don't pay."

"Yeah, well…"

"You're mostly right," interrupted James. "I loathe the Dark Arts, and those who seek to master them. But as for my complete avoidance of them, that's pretty – well, it's not correct. And even though I work at home, I do have an employer."

"You do?" said Sirius. "How come you've never mentioned it?"

"You just answered your own question, Padfoot."

Sirius looked confused. "What?"

"Promise me," said James seriously, "that what I tell you today stays in this room. I don't want to think about what might happen if this information fell into the wrong hands."

"Definitely, Marauder's honor," said Sirius, and Remus nodded in agreement.

"Good. I'm not going to press that because I know I can trust you. The reason I said you answered your own question is because of the terminology you used, Sirius. I never mentioned anything because that's part of my job description." James took a deep breath. "I work for the Ministry. I'm an Unmentionable."

Sirius didn't even try to conceal his snort of amused disbelief. "Very funny, James, you really had me going for a minute. Unmentionable, please." He stopped laughing when he realized nobody else seemed to think it was funny. "Come again?" he said.

"You mean you're an Unspeakable?" Remus said, trying to clarify.

"No, I mean I'm an Unmentionable. Yes, I know the name has connotations, but in all fairness the Ministry probably invented the term long before and independent of its adoption as a reference to undergarments. No cracks, please." He glared at Sirius, who despite his confusion still had a twitch playing around the corner of his mouth. "We handle things so secret and volatile that our position isn't even listed in Ministry databases, for the safety of all those involved. There are only a handful of Unmentionables in the whole Ministry, and even we don't know each other's identities."

Sirius whistled. "Merlin's beard, James, how'd you get stuck with that job?"

"He didn't get stuck with it, he asked for it, and he earned it," retorted Lily.

"But, why?"

"Because I knew I was qualified and I wanted to do something that would really be important in the long run. Ultimately, our little raids on Death Eaters won't get us anywhere, because they'll keep recruiting more. I wanted to find a way to strike at the root of the problem."

"The Unforgivable Curses," said Remus.

"But, how are they the root?" asked Sirius.

"Those are their chief weapons. The Ministry hasn't cleared Aurors to use them, and even if it had, only a handful of light wizards in history have ever been able to cast one successfully – at least, without serious personal repercussions. Having a conscience gets in the way sometimes. Light wizards are so frequently thrown off by negative emotions from the moment the words are being formed in their mouths that they can't go through with it. Voldemort has an advantage, if not in numbers, then in resources."

James ran a hand over the dragonhide cover of the book in his lap. "This is my journal. It goes all the way back to my fifth year when there was that horrible attack that did away with so many Hogwarts families, including my favorite cousin's. At the time I'd never seen an Unforgivable used, and here were story after story of them being cast so close to home, and I just had to know why they were so greatly feared.

"There really wasn't a lot of information out there on the Unforgivables, because people were so afraid of them that they practically denied their existence. This was, of course, very foolish."

"We've already seen how denial of something only increases fear. Look at the fact that no one ever says Voldemort's rightful name," cut in Lily. "It even took James and I quite a while to be comfortable with it. As for the Unforgivables, you'd think people would want to know how to protect themselves, seeing as they couldn't cast them."

"How many people have actually managed it?" asked Remus.

"Not many on record," said James. "The only one I know of that has been successful with one in the last century is Mad-Eye Moody, and he had to take some time off afterwards. Ever since then he's been a bit off, and has hardened himself to the point of being almost entirely detached from battles. He lost a little of his humanity to that curse – the Killing Curse. Of course, he didn't have much of a choice at the time."

"Oh, that's what happened," mused Remus.

James nodded. "He was rather shaken by it, and if something was enough to shake Moody, then you know it must have been unpleasant. It very nearly sent him into early retirement. He can do both that one and the _Imperius _without so much as blinking now, as you know. I don't think he's ever used the _Cruciatus_, and I hope he never has to."

"So, after this raid, you started to research the _Avada Kedavra_, and then?" Sirius prompted.

"Actually, I started looking at all of them, but as I said, the library didn't have much more than a few sentences here and there. So, I went to the Restricted Section."

"Madam Pince let you?" asked Sirius incredulously.

"She never knew," said James with a sly grin. "Honestly Padfoot. I'm James Potter! You think I had to ask for permission?"

"Touché," laughed Sirius. "So what did you find?"

"Again, not much, mostly rubbish and harebrained defensive schemes. But the best stuff I found wasn't actually books on the Unforgivables, but rather books that _mentioned_ them."

"What do you mean?" asked Remus.

"Books that recorded battles where they were used, firsthand accounts and medical records, for example," said Lily.

James nodded. "Indeed. I paid careful attention to places where they were used in combat, who the attacker was, their history, any mention of stance, tone, expression, or movement. In short, I didn't look at the spells themselves as much as I did who cast them and why. That's where the meat was.

"I can't tell you what I found out, but I can tell you that in my last year of Hogwarts I felt that my theories had enough support behind them to merit an audience with the Ministry, which I got."

"That's why you were in the library and off by yourself so often in those years. I wondered," said Remus.

"And I'll bet the Head Boy privileges helped you find time and places to be alone," added Sirius.

James nodded, and then continued his story. "I spoke to the Head of the Department of Mysteries and he gave me a choice: either leave my research there and walk away with a vow of silence, or bind myself to a position in the Department, and take a vow of silence anyway. I didn't want to relinquish my work to someone else, so I told him I'd take the job myself. I was given a three-month trial period and at the end of that I was hired."

"Do they pay you well?" asked Remus curiously.

"Of course they do. Considering the secrecy of the job, they'd be stupid not to. Got to give people incentive to shut up," said Sirius.

"Actually, the pay is quite small," said James. "The Unmentionables have to remain essentially invisible, so the Department has to keep careful tabs on the money spent on them so other areas of the Ministry don't get suspicious. None of the Unmentionables do what they do as a full-time job unless they're independently wealthy."

"Like you," said Remus.

"Like me." James smiled. "I never wanted all this money, but it has come in handy, I'll give you that."

"So, if you started officially working for them after your seventh year, that means you've been an Unmentionable for almost…" Sirius did a quick calculation in his head, "three years."

"More like two and a half, considering the trial period, waiting for an audience, and all the tedious paperwork. I started working full-time after that raid you mentioned where I actually witnessed the use of an Unforgivable. It happened practically on top of me, so I got a really good look at it. I realized that I was essentially on the right track with my ideas about light and dark magic, intent, and – sorry, can't say that – but also how stupid it was for me to be putting myself in harm's way when what I was doing was so important. So I quit active duty."

"Actually, his boss made him quit because his 'excessive recklessness was jeopardizing their potentially advantageous position in the war and threatening the success of one of their most valuable and covert operations,'" quoted Lily.

Sirius grinned. "That definitely sounds like a Ministry official, all right. I swear, part of their job is to swallow a dictionary before they can sign their contracts."

"Hey!" said James, returning the smile before continuing. "Anyway, I took the full time position and worked out of my home, which gave me the opportunity to be with my family. I also visited St. Mungo's on occasion to observe the behavior of _Cruciatus_ victims, interrogate those who had been under the _Imperius_, and read over autopsy reports from the _Avada Kedavra_. I was on a roll until Dumbledore turned up one night to tell me about the prophecy, and I fled, as you well know. My work fell to the wayside for a while. This past year I've started experimenting with counteractive potion making. So far I've had no conclusive results, but I'm still trying."

"But, what do you DO, exactly?" pushed Sirius. "I mean, what are you looking for?"

"I can't tell you that, really, but suffice it to say it has to do with the molecular make-up of spells."

He became thoughtful again. "I still wonder how I could've forgotten to conceal that book better. Oh well, I'm glad I told you, I guess. Keeping secrets can be painful, and it's a relief to talk." He smiled ruefully. "I've said rather more than I intended, actually." There was a brief pause.

"So, why the title?" asked Sirius.

Remus stared at him. "After everything he's just said, the only question you can pull out of your mothball infused mind is 'why the title?'"

"I'm curious," said Sirius. "People don't usually title their journals."

"Well, it's a bit more than a journal, isn't it? Besides, I figure that this way, if I die and somebody decides to publish it, I know it's got a good name." He grinned again. "I'm determined to get my fifteen minutes of fame, one way or another."

"Sneaky," said Sirius.

"And so what do you think about all of this?" asked Remus, glancing up at Lily.

"He was well in before I even dated him, and I know it's important, even if it's dangerous. I understand. And I was only joking when I said I don't help him with potions."

"She actually does quite a lot for me, when she has time," said James.

"Which isn't often, with this little monster in the house," growled Lily, tickling the protuberant belly of the child in her husband's lap.

"So, let me get this straight," said Remus, rubbing his chin with his thumb and index finger. "You do research for a Ministry that doesn't know you exist, in a Department that denies your job title, you get paid a pittance, and simultaneously you're hiding from the Darkest wizard there is while raising a son and working for an underground organization of aurors, all this while living off the fortune that your ridiculously wealthy grandparents and penny-pinching parents left you?"

"Basically, yes that's it," grinned James, but the smile didn't have its usual sparkle.

"That's a lot to deal with on your own," said Remus.

Lily snorted indignantly. "He is certainly not on his own, and you know it."

"Face it, Lily, you spend most of your time keeping Harry from destroying something, and we only heard about this today. As far as his research goes, he's pretty much by himself," explained Sirius.

"Wrong again." James ran a hand through his messy hair, creating a large pincushion on the top of his head. "I have… a research partner. I can't tell you who, as it would jeopardize them and their family, but I do have one."

"Does your boss know who he or she is?"

James shook his head. "No, he doesn't know much of anything, really. The only reason he knows I'm actually working is because I have to file an honesty contract every so often, telling him how much I've been working and whether or not I've made any significant progress. He gets basic updates from time to time. I tell him just enough to keep him happy and protect the operation." The baby in his arms gave a soft hiccup and burrowed deeper into his father's chest. James rubbed the boy's back idly. "I'm telling you this now simply because I promised myself I'd be honest with you if it came up, and due to present circumstances I think it's better if more of us are able to protect my journal. I'm obviously tripping up on the job in that way, since you were able to find it. I don't want it falling into the wrong hands if this stranger isn't as innocent as he seems." He looked his friends in the eye, seriously. "I am trusting you two with everything I am, everything that is important in my life now, even if the Order thinks I'm wrong about… things."

"You mean me," Remus said grimly.

"Indeed." James looked sadly into the other man's face. "I can't help what they believe about you, Moony. The truth is that the werewolves as a group are joining up with Voldemort and many have turned spy. You are naturally a candidate for traitor."

"But you don't believe it."

"Would I have told you all this if I did?"

Remus smiled gratefully. "You have no idea how much that means to me, Prongs."

James looked at him intently. "Oh, I think I do."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Jack

By 9:40 Lily and James were talking quietly on the floor by the fire with Harry curled up under his mother's arm, and Sirius had dozed off reading the Daily Prophet over Remus' shoulder and his light snores were the only sound in the room. Remus was so used to the noise, having spent seven years sharing a dorm with him, that he hardly noticed. While at school, James and Peter had added their own voices to the nightly din, and so this was really quite peaceful.

Remus sighed and leaned his head back against the couch. James had mentioned a research partner. He knew he was supposed to forget, but somehow he couldn't stop wondering who it was. The way James had said it, with a slight hesitation, led Remus to believe that this was a person they all knew, and that James had briefly considered telling them the name. So, it would be someone he trusted, someone intelligent and analytical most likely. Probably someone they had all been close to in school. Someone who understood spells and theory... someone like –

Remus shot up suddenly, causing Sirius to twitch and grumble in his sleep. There was only one person that James had ever asked for help with homework from, other than Lily. Only one person he had deliberately sought out to work on projects or independent studies or just to discuss the finer points of defence with. Only one person that had been by his side for all seven years without ever getting into a fight with him. And it hadn't been one of the Marauders. No, it had been that girl that was always giggling with Lily, who blushed whenever a boy so much as glanced in her direction, who spent all of her spare time experimenting in Greenhouse B with the Herbology club. The girl who had, oddly enough, dated Sirius for a year and a half, before breaking up with him and getting married to the brainy Ravenclaw Frank Longbottom, a man who had come as close to Marauderdom as one could get without acquiring the title. Alice Abernathy, that was it.

It had to be her. But, they hadn't heard from her or Frank for so long, almost two years. Remus had never even heard if their child was a boy or a girl because they had gone into hiding when the Potters had. Perhaps this was why? Perhaps the Death Eaters had discovered that Alice was close to the Potters and had tried to get at them for information. Perhaps, Merlin forbid, You-Know-Who had found out what James was studying. If the Death Eaters knew about James's book, they would do anything to get a hold of it.

Including find a way for one man to break through the wards around Godric's Hollow for just long enough to steal the book and get out. Damn. This mysterious fellow could be after the journal.

But surely that had occurred to James. James would never allow anyone to get near something as precious as this journal. Which is why he would make sure that it was adequately protected. So he left it in the section where I was most likely to find it. Sly fox, grinned Remus. Of course, James hadn't been careless. He could have gotten up and hidden it any time after they'd sent the letters, but he didn't bother because he wanted them to know. He then proceeded to be secretive and cautious enough that they understood its importance and value before he even told them what it was, ensuring they would want to protect it. He knew that his friends would have protected it anyway, but he was a Marauder at heart, and one of his joys was still messing with his friends' minds. Dear James, never missed a trick.

At 9:45 Remus shook Sirius awake and stood up. "We should get ready," he said, stretching. Sirius was immediately alert, and drew his wand. James noticed them moving and stood up as well, and the three went into the dining room and pulled the table out and set two chairs at opposite ends, leaving space to stand with their wands out. They took the time to make sure that the room was completely secure, from windows to ceiling to doors to apparition blocks. James, however, had to stop Sirius from placing a restraining charm on one of the chairs.

"We're not holding him prisoner, Padfoot," he said.

"I'm just being careful," was the answer. "I know you're okay with all this, but I'm not.  
I don't like this guy. He skulks around your house for an entire day after he somehow breaks through the wards, and then sends you a letter asking you to let him in. What does that tell you?"

"That he wants to talk to James?" said Remus, suddenly realizing that nobody had mentioned going to get Peter to be another pair of hands. He wasn't really surprised. It was no secret that Peter would be absolutely no use in a confrontation. His greatest skill was eluding danger, not facing it.

"No, it means that even though he was able to get through the outer wards, the ones around the house still work, so he can't come in unless you invite him. He spent the day trying to get in here like a burglar would, and it failed so he has to use stealth. So he's acting all friendly to get your guard down and then he'll bring all his little Death Eater buddies in and…"

"Stop it, Sirius. If that were the only thing keeping him out, he'd be in here by now because I as good as invited him in with my letter." James pointed out. "Besides, we've already pretty much ascertained that he's alone, and in that case the four of us are more than a match for him, especially if he gives us his wand."

"How can we be sure he won't be carrying a spare?" shot Sirius.

"I'll check," Remus answered. "I'll summon any dark objects or spare wands that he might have on him, and we can pat him down once he's inside."

James clapped Sirius on the back. "That's all you're going to get, old friend," he said.

Sirius walked out of the room to talk to Lily, not entirely convinced, probably in part because James himself was looking a little paler now that the time was at hand. He looked back towards the door through which he could barely hear the soft sounds of Lily humming to Harry, trying to put him to sleep, and a strained look passed over his features as he had a moment of doubt. "Am I doing the right thing, Remus?" he asked in a hushed voice. "Did I jump to this too soon because he mentioned my son?"

Remus looked at his friend carefully. "I honestly don't know," he said. "It all seems very strange to me, the letter and everything, but what sort of choice did you really have? If he is telling the truth? And there are more of us than him. We have emergency signals to let the Order know if there's trouble, as well."

James nodded. "I didn't want to say this with Sirius around because he'd probably get so protective that he'd shoot this man before he even got in the door, but I've had this strange feeling on the back of my neck all evening, even before we started wondering if there was someone outside. A feeling of being watched, being measured up somehow. Like there's a cold wind behind me blowing down my collar, giving me shivers. I don't like it. Not in the slightest. It reminds me of the days when I went out on raids with the Order and I'd suddenly know someone was creeping up behind me, and I'd spin around just barely in time to miss being murdered. It's that sort of feeling."

Remus was immediately concerned. "Why are you letting him in, then?"

"Because I have this other feeling that's just as strong, if not stronger, that if I don't let him in, I'll have made a terrible mistake."

"That's all?"

"Yes." James ran a hand through his hair. "That's all. Not a very convincing argument, but it's strong. So strong I can almost hear the words in my head." He looked seriously at the werewolf, eyes piercing. "Something is about to happen, Moony. Something big. Something that will dictate the rest of our lives. And I'm afraid."

As Remus fought to think of a comforting yet honest response to that statement, the sound of Harry fussing suddenly became audible in the next room and Lily's voice answered, crooning and whispering. James listened to the sounds of his family with a small smile on his face. He had been married for several years, but he still hadn't gotten over how wonderful it was to hear the woman he loved talking in the next room and knowing she wasn't going to have to go home at the end of the day. And there was Harry. His son. James grinned even wider as he let his mind wander to the future. Harry learning the alphabet; Harry running in the backyard, laughing as he chased his father's old snitch; Harry's first broomstick; Harry getting his Hogwarts letter and going off to his first year at school; Harry getting the best grades in his year and being the star of the Gryffindor Quidditch team while secretly living the life of the worst prankster Hogwarts had ever seen. He started to laugh.

"Earth to James. Join the land of the living," said Sirius as he re-entered the room suddenly, waving a hand before James' eyes. "What were you thinking about?"

James blinked. "Harry," he said. "Wondering what sorts of pranks he'll play when he gets to school."

Sirius grinned. "Bet he'll be even worse than us."

"He'll need an accomplice," James considered. "Any suggestions?"

Remus stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The Longbottoms' kid, maybe?"

"Somehow I can't see any child of Alice Abernathy conspiring with Peeves or dipping someone's braids in an inkwell," said Sirius.

"Maybe you're right…"

"He won't have a conspirator anyway," said Lily matter-of-factly, coming into the room with Harry on her hip. "He'll be very well behaved, you'll see. He'll be a model student."

"Merlin forbid!" cried Sirius in horror. "Not my godson!"

James laughed and turned back to his wife, who was indulging in a cavernous yawn. "You know you don't have to be down here, Lils. If you're tired, maybe you should go to bed."

"James Charlus Potter, if you think for one second --" She was cut off by a soft clink near the mail slot. Four wands instantly sprang up and focused on the door. A fifth wand was carefully slipped into sight and fell to the floor with a soft thud. Sirius bent and picked it up. A muffled voice permeated the stillness - a man's voice.

"I'm not going to open the door myself, and my hands are up, in case you were wondering."

Remus glanced at James, who nodded. "Okay, stranger, no false moves," he said, reaching for the door.

The voice chuckled. "I would be an idiot if I tried anything now, don't you think? I'm outnumbered and unarmed."

Remus carefully opened the door and looked out. A man robed in green and brown stood there patiently with his hands over his head. His face was concealed beneath a dark hood and, Remus suspected, a mask. Remus wasted no time and immediately cast a summoning charm for any hidden dark object or wand. The man consented to being patted down and scanned, and obediently kept his hands in the air as he was led inside, although it was not difficult to notice the tension in his shoulders or the slight hesitation in his feet before stepping over the threshold. Remus fancied for a moment that he felt the tiny hairs on his neck prickling, but it could have been because James had mentioned such a thing earlier and it was on his mind.

James noted with curiosity that the man determinedly kept his face down, not looking anybody in the eye. It made him wonder what this man had to hide, and consider again if he had done right by trusting him. Still, as the stranger had said himself, he would be a fool to try anything as he was currently defenceless. Sirius jerked his head toward the dining room, eying the visitor suspiciously. "Move," he barked.

It was a peculiar procession. Remus led, walking backwards with his wand raised. The stranger was next, followed closely by Sirius who prodded him with two wands as a constant reminder to keep his arms up. James and Lily ended the train, Lily carrying her son with her wand held firmly at her side, but not pointing anywhere. The owl had flown to her master's shoulder and was peering around at the others with mild curiosity.

Once seated, the stranger placed his hands palm down on the table. His owl, appearing the color of dark honey in the dimmer lighting, left his shoulder and found a comfortable spot on a nearby curtain rod. James took the seat opposite the stranger. Sirius and Remus took their places on either side of him and Lily sat by the door with Harry. There was a moment of silence, and then the stranger murmured, "Our agreement?"

James nodded and indicated that Remus and Sirius should step back. Then he raised his wand and said, "Conservare Silens Locus!" Instantly a filmy substance surrounded the two men, creating an impermeable bubble to keep sound from either entering or escaping.

Sirius glanced at Remus, who shifted nervously on his feet. Behind them, Lily bit her lip and held Harry closer.

"Here we go," said Remus.

Sirius nodded.

* * *

For a moment, James and the stranger just looked at one another. Actually, it was more the stranger staring intently at his host from beneath his hood and James returning the gaze expressionlessly, wondering why this man seemed so fascinated with his face. It made him nervous to be placed under such intense scrutiny, and he frowned. "You did come here to do something other than stare at me, did you not? Because if your only business is examining my face, then I will have to ask you to leave."

A slight chuckle sounded from beneath the dark hood. "No, I did come to speak. It's just… forgive me, finally meeting you, after all this time. I've waited for such a long time," the stranger murmured. James detected something in his voice, a kind of fascinated hunger, and James could feel his uncertainty rising. He gripped his wand under the table. Outside the bubble, Sirius and Remus noted this, and clutched their own wands tighter. Sirius' hand twitched slightly, as if he could barely restrain himself from diving right through and throttling the messenger.

"So, speak then," said James. "You said in your letter that you have important information for me, regarding my son?"

"I do."

"And how did you come across that information?"

"I can't tell you that yet."

"When will you tell me?"

"Soon."

"Meaning?" James was getting flustered, which unsettled him more than anything else. He was never flustered. Frightened at times, angry perhaps, but never flustered. This man had a manner about him that was so familiar and yet so foreign, and James could not for the life of him determine his intentions. " I would rather not stay here all night."

"Of course not… Mr. Potter. I have no intention of keeping you that long. But I should tell you I'm going to have to move my hands at some point to show you something, and I don't want to startle you by just reaching for it. You already know I don't have any dark objects in my pockets."

"Fair enough," said James. "Please, go on."

"I know my story will doubtless have some holes in it, but it has to because there are some things I cannot reveal to you, for both of our sakes. I'm sure you, of all people, understand the importance of secrecy." James nodded, wondering what he meant exactly by saying 'you of all people.' "I can only ask that you hear me out and don't press me for too many details. Are we agreed?"

"Didn't I agree to that in the letter?" asked James, scratching at the back of his neck where the hairs had begun to tickle and stiffen again. He wondered if Remus noted the gesture and recognized what it meant. He probably did.

"Yes, but I'd feel better if I had your assurance in person," came the reply.

"Indeed," said James. "Yes, we have an agreement."

"Oh, good," said the stranger. "That saves some hassle." He began fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve cuff – careful to leave his hands on the table. "I just wanted that cleared up first, for peace of mind. Not that I was particularly worried. From what I can tell, you're a fair and trustworthy sort."

In this light and with the stranger's new posture just enough of the face was visible that James saw the smirk that accompanied these words. It was strained and uncertain, but it was there. Judging from the lack of lines in the cheeks and chin he surmised that his visitor was no older than twenty, which surprised him. They could easily be the same age.

"Do you have a name I can address you by?" queried James.

"I hadn't thought too much about that, actually. I suppose, yes, Jack will do," answered the stranger. "It's easy to remember, easy to spell, and completely generic."

"So it's not your real name?"

"Do you really think it would be wise to tell you my real name at this point?"

"No, I suppose not," admitted James. Jack gave a small smile, and again James noticed how tense he seemed. Perhaps this was not a pleasant mission for the young man. It was possible he was not here voluntarily, that he had been ordered to come and obeyed out of fear. James felt slightly more sympathetic at this thought, but did not release his hold on his wand. "Your story, then?"

"Right." Jack cleared his throat, clenching and unclenching his fists on the varnished tabletop. "I suppose I would have to begin with my education. I attended Hogwarts just as you did, getting my letter at age 11 and being sorted into my house of choice, the usual."

He was at Hogwarts, and he seems about my age, thought James. Does this mean I should know him?

"My years there were eventful and I had many adventures, most of them dangerous and some of them undoubtedly against the rules." The corner of Jack's mouth turned up a bit. "But each of these jaunts was inevitably caused by or connected to one man. A very famous man, known for his evil actions, disturbing ideals, and band of shoe-licking followers. The same man, in fact, that is still wreaking havoc in the world. His name was and is Voldemort. I'm sure you've heard of him?"

James jumped slightly at the mention of his enemy and gazed more keenly at his guest. "Yes," he said shortly.

"I suspected as much. It's not much of a secret that he's after you, is it?"

"You seem to have access to quite a few secrets, Jack," said James. "I'm curious to know who your source is."

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you that yet," said Jack, and continued talking. "Anyway, as you know this Dark Wizard is greatly feared, and with good reason. I became determined very early on that I would do everything in my power to aid in his downfall. I devoted all my time to the study of defence, the Dark Arts, and the Unforgivable Curses, not that there was much information available. My determination to be prepared should I ever have the misfortune to face him lead me to some very remote places in search of knowledge.

"In my studies, I came across an unfinished journal, bound in the strongest dragonhide, charmed to resist all kinds of weather and conditions, and in remarkably good shape for being where it was when I found it. The journal was brilliant. It was well-informed, exceptionally well thought out, and held one astonishing theory about countering and even defeating the Unforgivables. I saw that there was no author marked, but there was a name scrawled on the title page, and I took that to be the man who wrote it. Having heard this man's name before, I knew I had to speak with him, no matter the risk. His theory was plausible, if dangerous, and I felt that with a little more tweaking it could become a huge asset to the war. So I came, and here I am."

There was a pause in which James digested this information. "You… how… what?" he gasped. The hairs on his neck were becoming almost painful.

"Your journal, Mr. Potter." Jack reached slowly beneath his robes, and a moment later he froze as Sirius burst through the bubble and jabbed his wand painfully into Jack's neck. James had also placed his hand on his own wand, although he had not drawn it.

"Hands where we can see them, stranger," Sirius snarled.

"He's just showing me something, Sirius. I've got it."

Sirius growled a bit, but removed his wand and stepped back out of the bubble, where he began pacing behind Jack. This seemed to unsettle the hooded man, and his hand was shaking slightly as he placed a very worn book on the table in front of him and slid it across the surface to James. James gulped. The title was marked in gold ink, and although it was duller than he remembered, the words were still quite clear: Forgiving the Unforgivable – Theories Regarding Wizardkind's Most Feared Curses.

It looked like it had been out in the elements for at least ten years, probably more. It looked so old, in fact, that James would not have believed it was his but for the fact that his name was on the title page in his own handwriting. He looked back at Jack in confusion. Hadn't Remus just been reading this very same book in the next room? How had it come to be in Jack's possession? And, more importantly, why was the ink so faded and the parchment so brittle? It couldn't be the same book…

"I can assure you that is your journal," said Jack softly, correctly interpreting his host's uncertainty.

"Excuse me a moment." James stood abruptly and strode from the bubble, leaving Jack still motionless in his seat.

"Remus, could you go and get my journal, please?"

Remus started in surprise. "But you said it needed to be secret, that it was too dangerous to…"

"I know what I said," said James, tight lipped.

"You can't show it to him! He could be a spy – a mole!" shouted Sirius from his spot over Jack's shoulder.

"Well if he is a spy, then I'm already exposed because he appears to have it anyway," James stated grimly.

"What?" Sirius glowered at Jack, who shifted slightly in his seat.

"Just go and get it Moony," said James.

When Remus returned with the book, James passed back into the bubble and took his seat. He began leafing through both books, page by page, first one then the other, examining every detail for some clue or indication of what was happening. Except for the obvious differences in age, the books appeared completely identical. He grew more and more bewildered as he read his own familiar research twice over, saw twin diagrams he had drawn, and notes scribbled in both margins in Alice's almost indecipherable lettering. A few pages in Jack's version were torn or missing, and in several places the writing had been smudged with water or dirt, but was clearly the same writing. And yet, when he reached the place where he had left off in the one book, the writing in the other did not stop, but rather continued on, still in his own handwriting, before ending at last several pages later. He glanced at the date on the last entry: October 31, 1981.

Six days away.

He looked up and fixed Jack with a penetrating stare. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but held such authority and power that Jack flinched. "Explain."

"It is your journal, you see…"

"Yes, I can see that," said James with a glare that could have rivaled Severus Snape. He closed both books, one shutting easily, the other spitting out a cloud of dust. "But I did not mean explain to me whose journal this is. I meant explain how it came to be in your hands."

James stared harshly across the table at the other man, but no answer was forthcoming, and so he continued, his words measured, trying his best to conceal the distress and confusion that were threatening to strangle him. "I can only think of one way you could have this," he said, "and it is not only completely stupid and illegal, but extremely dangerous to boot." He narrowed his eyes. "I am, of course, speaking of time travel." Jack still gave no indication of responding, so James pressed on. "I do not know why you, or anybody else for that matter, would be in possession of my journal, as I have never once told anyone but my closest friends about its existence, and intend to keep it secret. Judging by the wear, I would say it has been unused and unknown for a great many years, and I know I would never allow that to happen. Would you be so kind as to inform me…?" James trailed off, eyeing Jack with what to the untrained observer would be considered anger and fierceness. But he had a feeling that Jack was not untrained in the art of concealing one's true emotions, and could easily decipher the emotion in James's eyes.

"I can tell you a great deal, but you must first understand that I've already taken a huge risk in locating you and…"

"I won't press for details, yes, I know."

"Right." Jack steepled his fingers in front of his hood. "I must also tell you that some of what I have to say you will not like, and will not want to believe, but it is for better or for worse the truth. I must ask you at this point to please refrain from comments at all, and just let me talk. It's going to be a hard story, and I think I'll get it out better if I can just go, you know?"

James nodded, and Jack sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his ribs. He seemed to be considering his story, perhaps rearranging things into a manageable order in his mind. James was not by nature a patient man, and the silence was wearing on him, but he forced himself to remain still. He wanted answers, lots of them, and he was not going to jeopardize his chances of getting them by doing something stupid and unexpected.

A moment later, just when James thought he couldn't take the suspense any longer, Jack sighed deeply, and then began to speak.


	5. First Interlude

_Interlude  
_

"There isn't much time left."

"I know."

"People are dying every day. Dozens of them. Even hundreds."

"Yes."

"They've stopped printing names in the paper, did you know that? There are just too many to keep track of. They're thinking of publishing a separate list every day."

"I know."

"Is this what it was like before? The other war?"

"It was different, but the same."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. War is war. It is the small details that have changed, but not the feeling behind it, and not the shadow it leaves on the soul."

"But did it get like this? All these funerals? The unmarked graves? The homeless?"

"It was never this bad."

"It's been silent a long time."

"I know."

"Sometimes I think I'm forgetting what the world sounded like, before…"

"Dark times can make us forget many things that are important. It does not mean they cease to exist or be true."

"Like what?"

"Like all of the things we have lost. Like the blue of the sky. The birdsong. The laughter."

"I remember the sun."

"So do I."

"It's gone so dark, though."

"It will stay that way for some time. This is an unnatural darkness, and cannot be lifted by our little candles."

"Sir?"

"What is it?"

"I feel cold."


	6. Chapter 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I made some small but significant changes to chapter 4, which a second read on the reader's part might not show, and so I'll just say that I edited Jack's manner of speech a bit. He was coming across in a way that I had not intended. If you notice any discrepancy between the way he spoke last you heard and this chapter, just realize that what you last heard has been altered a bit. Is that confusing enough for you?

* * *

_­Chapter 4 - Interview With a Stranger_

"What's going on in there?" Sirius asked impatiently. "It's been over an hour since James went into the bubble with that… good-for-nothing."

It had also been at least forty-five minutes since he had stopped talking altogether and just watched his visitor, drinking in the words with rapt attention. Remus had, in this time, seen his friend's expression go from confusion to wonder to nothing, and it was the nothing that he didn't like. He had seen it before on several occasions during school and later in the Order. It meant Prongs was troubled, and under the present circumstances seeing Prongs troubled was not encouraging. The facial expression itself sent chills down his spine. He watched Sirius pacing.

From his vantage point outside the bubble, Remus couldn't see the two books very well (and James had added a befuddlement charm to the bubble to keep his friends from seeing more than they needed to), but he knew James had hinted at the stranger having a copy of his journal, and this concerned him. He didn't see how it was possible, considering what James had told them about how carefully he protected it. As to Sirius' question about what was happening, he had no answer. He was just as clueless as his friend.

So much about this meeting was surreal and inexplicable. Firstly, just the fact that the stranger had gotten through the wards was enough to make him nervous. But now, that same stranger was sitting inside the house talking with a hunted man during a time when the custom was, "if you see someone in black with their face covered, curse first and ask questions later." And to make it even more perplexing, there was the journal. James had spent a very long time poring over the two books on the table, and his face had become more and more blank the farther he got. Sirius and Remus both knew that look. Knew it very well, and had never liked it. If James found himself unable to either laugh something off or rage about it, then it was far more serious than any of them liked to think. Still, Remus told himself, there was no point in worrying too much. It would just make him shakier if things came to blows. He had always been the calm one in these situations at school because he figured one out of the four Marauders should always have their head screwed on straight.

He turned to smile encouragingly at Lily, but she wasn't looking at him. She was singing softly to Harry, who had his eyes closed and was peacefully chewing on his tiny fist. Lily felt Remus' eyes on her and looked up, returning his smile before standing to take Harry upstairs to bed. Sirius protested, but Lily shook her head. "He needs to sleep, regardless of what's going on down here. And there's nothing I can do right now except keep trusting James to handle the situation wisely," she said, and left the room.

"It's not James I'm doubting," grumbled Sirius as Remus turned back to watch the hidden conversation play out. Inside, James watched his wife go with a sad expression, but made no effort to stop her. Remus looked more carefully. The blank expression previously inhabiting James' features was gone, and in its place lingered something akin to grief, seasoned with the weight of years, and sprinkled with a few teardrops. As Remus watched, James locked eyes with Sirius for a moment. Remus knew from the expression on Sirius' face that he was revisiting a moment in their shared past, another occasion when the two of them had witnessed that expression.

_Sirius was sitting by the fire in the common room ignoring his homework as usual. He didn't feel the need to study. His memory was practically photographic, and he had the annoying ability to read something once and forget about it, and then easily pass the next test. He was ranked highly as far as tests and homework assignments, but his dismal essay grades kept him from being seen as anyone extraordinarily intelligent. Remus often chastened him for his laziness and tried to impress upon him the value of hard work. Sirius knew he could be a top student if he applied himself, but he just wasn't interested. He preferred pranking to school, and as far as he was concerned a good prank used just as much of your mind as a complicated potion. _

"_Sirius, you should at least take some notes," said Remus._

"_Why? I have an A in the class right now…"_

"_You could have an E, or even an O if you just studied more."_

"_Don't care," said Sirius, tossing his book aside. He looked up at James, who had just joined them at the table after Quidditch practice. He was still in his practice clothes and looked exhausted. "Hey, Prongs, you up for some fun tonight? I thought of this brilliant prank we could play on Snivellus…" he stopped, perplexed. James was shaking his head. James never turned down an opportunity to prank Snape. Ever._

"_James, are you all right?" asked Remus in concern. Peter's mousy head snapped up from his Arithmancy book and his watery eyes sought out James._

_James sighed and hunched further in his seat. They saw now that his eyes were red-rimmed and slightly puffy, as if he'd been crying. That was something else. James didn't cry._

"_James?" said Sirius softly._

_Silence. "Talk to us, mate," encouraged Remus. Sirius looked at him sharply. Boys didn't "talk" about things as far as he was concerned, but Remus ignored him and looked intently at James, who had his head cradled in his large hands._

"_Is it Lily?" asked Peter suddenly. The others looked at him in surprise and he sputtered a little bit. "It's just, Andy Selles said he thought they had a bit of a row earlier, and I can't think of anything else that bad. Of course, I don't know too much about it," the smaller boy said humbly._

"_Is that it? Did you two have another row?" asked Remus._

"_Maybe she turned him down again. This would be what, one hundred and ninety two refusals?" scoffed Sirius, and immediately wished he hadn't said it, because James looked even more pained than before._

"_That's all we do, isn't it?" he whispered. "Row and yell?"_

"_Well, pretty much, yeah," said Sirius. "Why?"_

_James screwed up his face for a moment and then burst out, "Am I arrogant?"_

_Sirius nearly choked. "What?"_

"_Am I arrogant?" repeated James. "I asked Lily why she never agrees to go out with me, and she just went on and on and told me I was arrogant and irresponsible and all these other things. She gave me all these examples, too. It was like having every stupid thing I've ever done laid out in front of me on a table, and me not being able to do anything to fix it." He slumped back in his chair and put his feet up on the table, narrowly missing Peter's book. "She sounded so disgusted, like I was even slimier than Snape's hair after potions class, if that's even possible. I mean, she's done that before, but…," He looked up pleadingly. " I never really believed her before, but now I don't know. So I'm asking you, and I want honest answers, am I arrogant?"_

_The others just looked at him, wanting to say something encouraging or that would deny this accusation, but no words came. They didn't need them. Their hesitation told James all he needed to know. He buried his face in his hands again._

"_Why didn't anyone say anything?"_

"_Well, Lily did several times you know, you just didn't li—" Peter stopped suddenly as he received Sirius' elbow in his gut. Sirius may have been incapable of recognizing his own inconsiderateness, but he was quick to squash it in anyone else, especially where James was concerned._

"_Look mate, we're all idiots sometimes – " Sirius began, but James cut him off._

"_I know that, but I just… I never thought it would be so… off-putting, you know? I was just being a great pratty show off because I wanted her to notice me, and now it's been five years and I was thick enough not to notice I was just pushing her farther every time. She told me as much just now." He looked up sadly. "She said the closest I ever was to having a chance with her was before she met me."_

_Sirius hissed through his teeth. "Harsh," he said._

"_Well, maybe it's for the best," tried Remus. "I mean, you were never even friends, and maybe you should just let it go. Learn from this experience and change, and –"_

"_Don't say that! Don't ever say that! I can't lose her! I won't lose her, I refuse!"_

"_James," said Sirius as gently as he could, "I don't think you can really say you won't lose her. I mean you never really had her, did you?"_

_James stared at him, his face pale. "I've really messed this up, haven't I?" He sighed. "I don't know anything about this stuff! Any other girl in the school would be falling over herself to get me! A lot of them have!"_

"_Maybe that's why you want Lily so much," suggested Remus._

"_Do you think she'd listen, if I tried? If I changed, or something?" asked James. " Would I have a chance?"_

_Sirius didn't say anything, because he knew his honest answer would not be the one James wanted to hear._

That was the only other time James had looked Sirius in the eye with that expression. It spelled complete and utter brokenness. Sirius stared back, trying to extend some support, but James only blinked at him once before he lowered his head to his hands and began to gently massage slow circles into his temples.

"This doesn't look good," murmured Remus.

Sirius shook his head in agreement, and Remus could see he was restraining himself from hexing this messenger who had brought more troubles to a man who already bore too much. The stranger was still talking, the wretch, as if he didn't even care that he had brought James Potter to tears.

"I've never hated anybody as much as I hate him right now," growled Sirius. His knuckles whitened as he clutched his wand. He might have snapped it in two had Remus not noticed and gently loosened his friend's fingers. Remus pulled up a chair by the bubble, peering at James, trying to gauge something of what was going on. It was difficult, as his face was now completely obscured by his hands and his shoulders were quivering slightly.

"What's going on?"

Lily was in the doorway again, having put Harry to sleep. "He's crying, I think," Sirius said tonelessly.

Remus glanced across the table. "For the record, that one doesn't look too comfortable either."

It was true. Although the stranger was still talking, his posture was rigid, and his hands were leaving sweaty prints on the table. Sirius snorted. "Maybe his conscience is catching up with him," he growled. "Come on, can't we just go in and blast him? James is _crying_ Remus, or as close as he gets. He's got tears on his face, don't you see? James _never_ cries. He yells, he breaks things, he sulks, but he doesn't cry except on very rare occasions. If James is crying then –"

"It must be bad," Remus finished. "I know, Sirius. But we have to trust him. He'll come out if he needs us. I think we just need to let whatever it is happen. It's not as if there's anything life-threatening going on."

Lily came and stood by Remus. "He is crying," she whispered, "but not like I've seen before, at horrible news in the paper, or when he's injured. This is different." Her own eyes began to glisten as she looked at her husband.

"How do you mean?" asked Remus.

"He looks defeated."

Sirius and Remus looked at James sadly. She was right; the slump in his shoulders signaled hopelessness and resignation. Seeing James like that was quite possibly the most frightening thing any of them had ever seen.

"Why is this happening to him?" groaned Sirius. "Why does _everything_ happen to him? Why can't the bloody fates pick on somebody else?"

Remus shook his head. He didn't have an answer to that question.

The wind outside howled and beat against the windows, demanding to be let in and warmed, but the inhabitants of the house had no warmth to offer. They felt the chill of fear and the icy burn of anger. As the wind moved on to cry at another door, Remus suddenly noticed how silent the room was without it. The only sound in the room now was the gentle whirring of the clock on the wall and the bored hoot of the stranger's owl.

Lily sat beside James and placed a hand on the bubble, willing him to feel her comfort and support. The stranger seemed to be aware of her change of position, and shifted slightly, his hood dimpling as if he were turning his head to glance at her. Remus reached out and placed his hand on Lily's shoulder and watched Sirius as he strode to and fro across the dining room floor muttering to himself and staring at the stranger with intense dislike.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

A silent Jack waited in his chair for his host to look up again. James had placed his head wearily on the table as he struggled to absorb what he had just heard. He didn't want to believe any of it, but somehow, inexplicably, he knew it was true.

After the silence had stretched out several more minutes and his heart had slowed to a normal pace, James raised his head and turned his eyes toward his guest again. "Does anyone in your time know you are here?"

"Just two."

"You came alone?"

"Yes."

"Why?" The incredulity in James' voice was unmistakable.

"I thought I already explained that."

"Tell me again."

Jack sighed irritably. "I came because a certain young man's life was turned upside down with your death, and I thought your journal –"

"Yes, yes, I know that part," interrupted James. "I know I'm doomed to die in six days, I know we can't afford to leave this house to protect ourselves because it would change the future too much, I know you think you have a solution of sorts, I know about your supposed concern for my family, and I know that you are concealing an enormous bit of information until I agree to do… whatever it is you're planning, but I don't understand what you _want_."

Jack stiffened in his chair. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, for you to have done all this, you must have something in mind that you want in return."

James looked over the table and tried to find Jack's eyes, but they were completely invisible beneath the folds of black cloth. Weighing the things he had learned in the past hour, he shuddered to think of how vast the price for this man's information and help would be. He did not think that Jack was an immediate threat to him, was willing to believe that he had come as a Good Samaritan to help with a problem James did not know he had, but could not believe that this information was free. He guessed that Jack wanted something from him, something huge, something significant and possibly going against his personal morals. Jack's manner of speaking, alternately formal and absent-minded gave the impression of a man who was not entirely sane, and this worried James even more. He hadn't had much experience with madmen, but the ones he had seen in the closed wards of St. Mungo's had all been unpredictable and sometimes dangerous. He wondered if he should dare take the risk of bargaining with one, knowing what else was already at stake.

James knew he himself was destined to be ripped away from his family in six short days, leaving his infant son to who knew what fate. He knew he would never get the chance to buy Harry that broomstick, or rejoice over his Hogwarts letter, or laugh while comparing their best pranks. He would never see his son fall in love or get married. He would never see Lily get wrinkles around her eyes or watch her hair turn gray. It was all going to end, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Or was there? Jack had said he thought he had a solution, that James' own research had given him an idea. But they couldn't change the past now. Whatever happened to him was too drastic, and the future would be altered too much. The risk was too great, even with Jack's theory about manipulation of the past. What was it he had said?

"_It's not so much that you can't change the past, it's that you can't change it noticeably. And there are ways, I believe, if you're really careful, that you can imitate the past while altering it, providing the future with a carbon copy of what _should_ have happened, but really didn't. Does that make sense?" James had shaken his head in utter bewilderment. Jack thought for a moment, trying to find a better way to say what he wanted to say._

"_Well, let's say in the past – or the present, I suppose – someone wrote a letter that was going to be found in the future, but the letter told a lie that would hurt the future reader. Someone wanted to make sure the reader didn't get hurt, so they went back to fix it. Unfortunately, they knew that the letter would be seen by several other people before it eventually came into the hands of the intended party. But the letter was never actually read after it was sealed. So the task would not be to keep the letter from being written, but to switch it with another identical letter somewhere in the interim, so the events were never changed, but the outcome was. Time can be manipulated without anyone noticing, if it's done correctly."_

"_And you can do it correctly?"_

"_I don't know. So far I haven't actually really changed much of anything."_

"_But now you've told me all this, what's to stop me from just taking my family and leaving? I don't have to worry about altering the future…"_

"_But you do. Your survival might change what happens to me in some way… I would never find the journal if you had it, and I would never come back here to tell you that you were going to die. So, everything would just get confused and bizarre, and who knows what strange things would happen? The last time somebody tried to drastically change the past was in 1743, at the time of the Scandinavian Goblin Rebellion. Arszt Fowldeiler tried to go back forty years to stop it from ever happening, and it was of course too enormous an event for him to get away with it – time has a way of locking itself down – and to make a long story short he ended up not being born. It took fifteen years of research and careful time travel investigation to sort out what happened, because there were a lot of buildings that were suddenly empty, and things like that. Nobody knows why that happened the way it did, but it did, and there's no telling what your running away could cause. Do you understand?"_

He did now. He was saying that there should be a way to make it seem as if they had died, but make sure they lived, while not altering any of the events in between and therefore remaining within the bounds of possibility and law. He was saying that if they didn't travel this route, then James and Lily would have no choice but to let themselves be killed. But there was a problem: James knew that there were more than fifteen years, possibly twenty, between his death and when Jack decided to find him. There was no way he'd be able to hide for twenty years and let his son grow up believing he was dead, and never being involved at all. He'd have to stop contacting anyone at all in the world for fear of being discovered and really messing up the future. He just couldn't do that.

He couldn't abandon Harry.

Then there was this question: Why would Jack go through the trouble of helping them die to live? What exactly did he want from all of this? He had mentioned that he was here on behalf of a very significant young man, but he hadn't explained who. They had been here for so long, and still James felt that he was no closer to getting any answers than he had been before. The questions just kept getting more and more complicated.

"You must have some price or something. Why else would you personally risk imprisonment or death to travel back in time two decades to tell me this?"

"I have my reasons."

"People could get killed because of this."

"People are already dying, Mr. Potter. That can't be changed. And the young man I mentioned…"

James interrupted, frustration overcoming him. "It seems to me to be a pretty strange reason to take all these chances, just because of one young man's…"

"He figures very strongly in the story."

"In what way?"

"Let's just say his life is very closely intertwined with my own and so what matters to him immediately becomes important to me."

"But who _is_ he?"

"His name is Harry Potter."

James froze, disbelief etched into his pale features. "Harry? _My_ Harry?" he whispered.

"Yes."

"As in my son, my one year old child who is now sleeping in his cot in his room?"

Jack nodded. "The very same."

"You're telling me that my son is the young man on whose behalf you've come?"

Again, Jack nodded.

"Does he know of this?"

"He does."

"And you know of his distress because you went to school with him?"

"You could say that."

"You know my son?"

Jack sat silent, apparently unwilling to answer the question, but James would not be deterred. He rose to his feet.

"Answer me! Do you or do you not know my son in your time?"

"I don't think it would be accurate to say I know him, exactly," murmured Jack. "Why don't you sit down? You're agitating your friends."

"What do you mean, not accurate?" fumed James, pounding his fist on the table. A flash to his side caused him to look out at his friends. They did indeed look agitated, standing by the bubble with grim expressions. Sirius made a motion that clearly communicated "Shall we hex him for you?" James raised a hand to keep them out, and turned back to Jack, who was looking steadily at the table where his hands had rested moments before. They were now curled around the carved armrests of his chair.

James was leaning over the table staring into the blackness under Jack's hood, his face red and his voice shaking. He seemed to be staring straight through the mask and burning holes into Jack's skull. Jack began breathing audibly, with anger or fear or some other emotion James could not tell.

Outside the bubble Remus was standing rigid, his expression no longer accommodating, his wand shaking in his clenched fist. Sirius was prowling around the other side of the enclosure like a wild animal stalking its prey. His eyes were glittering with malice and it was obvious that at that moment he would have liked nothing better than to throw his wand to the side and use his own two hands to squeeze the life from Jack's body. Jack did not look at Lily, but seemed to be vaguely aware of her standing protectively by James' shoulder, as close to him as she could without entering the bubble. James was still talking.

"Look, I've been patient with you, I've listened to everything you had to say, I've complied with all your requests from your letter, and you still haven't explained how you got through our protective wards in the first place. Right now the cooperation on your side is running fairly low. I'm willing to overlook the question of the wards for now in lieu of a more pressing matter, but that is the extent of my benevolence. So, if you don't want me to call my friends in here to hex you into oblivion within the next thirty seconds, then by all that is sacred you WILL answer my question!"

Jack jerked abruptly to his feet with a yell and slammed his palms on the table. "I will not be interrogated again! Not by anyone! Ever again! Do you hear me? Not ever!"

James gaped, stunned into silence by the outburst. Sirius, snapping at long last, practically threw himself through the bubble but at James' upraised hand, Remus just barely managed to restrain him. "Wait," he hissed. "Just wait a moment."

Jack and James stared at each other for a long moment, and then Jack's shoulders drooped and quivered as he laughed thinly under his breath. He fell back into his chair and grasped his hood with his hands. "All these years," he murmured so low that James could barely hear him. "I finally have the courage to stand up to the man behind the table, and it's James Potter. It isn't fair." He followed this statement with an incredulous snort.

James was silent. He stared across the table at Jack who was lost somewhere deep in his own thoughts. Jack raised his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "For a moment the situation came too close to a bad memory of mine. I don't take well to being shouted at. Never have. I've always been rather hot headed about things like that."

"But I'm asking you to listen to me now, however much you don't understand or don't want to understand. I came here, desperate and broken as I am, putting those I love in danger, because I – we need you, James Potter. The future is collapsing, and you're the only one that can stop it!"

He sighed and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "You asked me a fair question just now, about who I am. I was wrong to shout at you. I should take it as a good sign that you haven't thrown me out yet, really." He raised a hand to wipe his brow, and James suddenly noticed the white scars running across his throat.

"I can appreciate that you've had troubles, and I am sorry for them, but I need to know," James said quietly. "Who the deuce are you, and what do you know about my son?"

Jack slumped forward in his chair with his head in his hands, for the first time appearing small and childlike where he sat. When he spoke it was in little more than a whisper.

"I _am_ your son."


	7. Chapter 5

A/N - Hello, faithful readers! I apologize for my extended absence... I ran through a rather dark tunnel of depression (bleargh) followed by Terminus 2008 (HP con in Chicago for those of you who don't know) which was fabulous, and between the two of those things, I didn't get much writing done. But I'm back now, and have brought some lovely HPAA goodness for you! Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. Please feel free to answer the poll question on my profile page.

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_Chapter 5 – Truth_

James didn't even realize he had fallen back into his chair. He didn't realize his finger was throbbing from its violent contact with the table. He didn't notice his two best friends rushing forward, wands directed at Jack, their faces dark with distrust, although they did not break through the bubble. He didn't register the fact that Lily was now by his side gently rubbing his hand and murmuring to him. He didn't realize that Jack was sitting equally motionless across from him in a state of nervous apprehension. All that James could think of were the last words this man had spoken to him.

_I am your son._

His son.

Harry.

Sitting across from him at this table.

Grown up.

Harry.

His son.

Was it possible? It would certainly explain why he had been able to find the journal, and why he was so willing to risk the ministry's wrath to come here. It would explain why he had been so secretive, so willing to comply to all requirements, why the owl had been so interested in his son – _her_ young master. It would explain why he had been able to find the house so easily. He was included in the _fidelius_ charm.

James' heart clenched painfully as he realized why this boy was so concerned about the Potter family's fate. It had affected him more than anyone else. How much he must have suffered…

James blinked several times. He had to know. He had to be sure. "Let… let me see your face," he whispered, shocked at the vulnerability of his own voice.

"Not when they are all here," came the reply, just as quietly.

James turned to his wife. "Lily, please leave the room. Take Padfoot and Moony with you. Now." Although James' voice was soft, there was a hidden urgency that Lily immediately sensed. She turned swiftly to look at Jack, and studied the darkness under the hood for a moment before her face softened inexplicably. She stood and walked from the bubble, dragging with great difficulty an outraged and very reluctant Sirius.

Sirius refused to leave, in fact, despite Lily's insistence, and for once Remus seemed disinclined to back James up, standing resolutely by the bubble with his wand held firmly beneath his thin fingers. But after several minutes of arguing James came out and declared in no uncertain terms that if they were not all out of the room within thirty seconds, very nasty things would happen to them. Faced with the threat of James Potter's wrath, Sirius at last complied and James sealed and silenced the door behind him. He then turned and vanished the bubble.

"Show me," he said evenly.

Jack sighed as he stood. "Just promise me this. Don't do anything rash, like running out and telling everybody, okay? The last thing I need is for someone else to discover I'm here. We're all in enough danger as it is."

"I understand."

"You might want to sit down." Jack motioned James to a nearby chair and glanced warily about the room before slowly reaching up to slip off a simple black mask and remove his hood. James sat rigidly in his chair, his wand forgotten. Any moment now he would know. He took a deep breath and held it, fighting the urge to close his eyes and pinch himself. He sat up even straighter and his heart beat frantically against his ribcage as the hood fell back, to reveal…

His own face.

And yet, not his own. It was thinner, paler than he recalled his own features being. There was a hungry, haunted look in the eyes that made James want to simultaneously rage and weep. He recognized the mop of unruly dark hair because he saw it on his own head every morning when he woke up, although this hair was longer, and hung limply with an unhealthy sheen to it. James could see that he was once quite handsome, below the dark scar running across his jaw and his generally disheveled appearance. What had happened to bring this young man to such a state?

He wondered how old this Harry was. Their two faces looked so similar, and he guessed that his original approximation of 20 or 21 was correct, although it was true that those eyes showed a greater age than was indicated by the rest of the features. The eyes… oh sweet Merlin, the eyes. Lily's eyes, with that unmistakable green, that distinctive almond shape; the eyes that he had only recently seen in the face of his infant child. Harry's eyes.

He felt his chest constrict in a small sob before he noticed the tears streaming down his face. How long had he been crying? He didn't know. All he knew was that his son – his real, flesh and blood son – was standing in front of him, his face strained and uncertain. Before he realized he was doing it, he found himself walking forward, hand stretched out tentatively before him to touch, to know.

The tears on his face were mirrored in Jack's – no, Harry's - eyes, and drawing little rivulets down the hopeful face. Harry tensed, his eyes flitting from those of his father to the outstretched hand, unsure of how to react to the touch he knew was coming. It came, one of James' fingers gently stroking away a wayward tear. He didn't know if his hand or the cheek it touched was trembling, but he didn't care. Nor did Harry, who had longed for this touch all his life.

Neither man knew how long they stood there, nor who moved first, but suddenly they were locked in an embrace, tears flowing freely and anxiety forgotten. This was how it was meant to be. They spent several long moments weeping together, stunned and overjoyed by the reunion. Harry in particular had never known such a hug - a father's hug. Not Remus, Mr. Weasley, nor even Sirius had been able to give him such a magnificently fulfilling hug. He felt as if his face were splitting open, as the corners of his mouth couldn't possibly stretch any farther without causing injury.

Sirius was pacing again, fuming. They were back in the living room in the same positions they had taken several hours earlier. Lily was sitting by the fire, Sirius was overcome with the need to be in constant motion, and Remus was perusing the bookshelf. The idea of being out here while James was locked up in that room with a mysterious stranger who had made him cry, and rage, and look troubled was unsettling him. Especially under the current circumstances, with the war, You-Know-Who, and the journal in the front of everyone's mind causing so much stress.

Remus sat down and sighed. He had looked over every single one of James' books and couldn't remember any of them. He just couldn't focus. He glanced up at his patrolling friend and then let his eyes wander until they found Lily. She was staring listlessly into the fire, her hands clasped in her lap. She appeared to be deep in thought. Remus watched her for a while until she looked up and smiled encouragingly at him.

"How can you be so calm?" murmured Remus. Sirius turned abruptly, his unblinking eyes mirroring Remus' question.

Lily shrugged. "I'm not sure. Somehow I just know everything is going to be fine."

"We don't even know this man!" argued Sirius. "He could be anyone!"

"So he could be a friend."

"But…"

"Sirius, I can't explain it, but there it is. I just know somehow. I don't know who he is, or what he's really after, but back there before we left, I looked at him, and suddenly I got this feeling that I can trust him." Lily looked up into Sirius' eyes. "And what's more, I trust my husband's judgment."

"But what is his judgment on this, Lily?" asked Remus. "We don't know anything for sure, but from what I saw in there James isn't exactly happy."

"I know," answered Lily, "and that does worry me, but his reaction could have been to some bad news, and not to the man himself."

"Even so," cut in Sirius, "he brought bad news here, and the last thing James needs is one more trouble to think about."

"If it's something that could help us protect ourselves and Harry in the long run, then I'm willing to take the pain first, and I'm sure James feels the same way." She looked at Remus for confirmation, needing him to agree for her own peace of mind.

"Lily," said Remus gently, "in this case I have to agree with Sirius. We've seen nothing to indicate that this man's intentions are honorable, and in the past hour I've seen James become more upset than I've seen since school, and then on only a very few occasions. I'm not saying I don't trust his judgment, because I do, and if he comes out and tells me to trust this man, then I will. But for right now I don't see James trusting him any more than we do."

"I know, but…" Lily looked back at the fire. "Part of me knows it's all going to work out, that we can trust this man, but part of me feels so cold and afraid. I'm scared for Harry, Remus. This has something to do with the prophecy, I just know it."

"How can it be about the prophecy?" said Sirius.

Lily just shook her head.

"I guess for now we just have to wait it out," Remus observed.

Sirius let out an exasperated groan. "I hate waiting," he growled.

"Why don't you sit, Padfoot? You're not doing anyone any good pacing like that, and I'm not sure how much more the carpet can take. I'm sure James is fine," intoned Remus in a voice so calm and reassuring that Sirius was almost convinced – almost. He dropped into a chair and began tapping his feet and fingers in an agitated rhythm, his eyes locked on the closed door across the hall.

It was twenty minutes since James had dismissed them from the dining room. He had obviously cast a silencing charm on the door, because no matter how hard they strained their ears, the people in the living room could hear nothing. Just as Sirius was about to force the door open to check James emerged, silent and still, his face stained by renegade tears. But he was smiling.

"James!" Sirius ran to him immediately. "What happened? Why are you crying? What did he do to you? That bastard, I'll…"

Nobody ever heard what Sirius would do to the unfortunate visitor, because at that moment James placed one hand over the man's mouth and embraced him with the other. "Bless you and your ridiculous sense of responsibility, my dear Padfoot, but today it is ill-placed." James pulled back and regarded his confused audience with a curiously blissful expression. "You two can go now, we'll be alright. I'm sorry I troubled you. Lily, could you set up the spare room for our guest?" Lily looked at him with narrowed eyes for a moment, trying to determine something, and then nodded and left the room, leaving James at the mercy of his two irate school friends.

"You're letting him _stay_ with you?" cried Sirius.

"Yes."

"Are you crazy? He could murder you in your sleep! Or Harry!"

"Or both," said James cheerfully. This last pronouncement left a shocked silence in its wake.

"W-What?" choked Remus.

James laughed. "My dear Moony, he had ample opportunity to kill me just now as I left the room, my back unprotected and his wand back in his possession."

"You returned his _wand_?" Sirius' voice broke on the last word. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I saw no reason to keep it from him any longer."

"But James…"

"No, Sirius, stop." James' tone indicated quite clearly that he was past arguing. "You two must be tired. Go home, get some sleep. And don't just pop back in here without warning. Our friend wishes to keep his identity as secret as possible. He will be staying here for a few days and helping me with my research."

"And you trust him?" said Sirius incredulously.

"Completely."

"Why?"

"That is my affair, Padfoot. Suffice it to say that he has won my trust and my cooperation. I have heard all he had to say, and my mind is made up. Please go now; I would like to show Ha – Jack to his room."

"But…"

"Goodnight, Padfoot. Goodnight, Moony." James escorted his friends to the fireplace and held out the floo jar.

Remus sighed. "Goodnight James. Be careful."

"Always," smiled James, but was interrupted.

"Remus! Don't go, you moron!"

"What you don't trust James to do what is right for his family? Do you honestly think he would tell us to leave if there was even the slightest chance of danger? This is _James_, in case you hadn't noticed." Remus took a small handful of the floo powder and stepped into the fireplace. Once beyond the grate, he turned back. "Coming, Padfoot?"

Sirius angrily helped himself to the floo powder. Within moments they were both gone, leaving stern warnings behind them. Remus was most likely going to be thoroughly chewed out once they got back to the country house they shared, but James had confidence in Moony's ability to stick up for himself.

It was a good arrangement for them. Remus had no money to buy his own home, and Sirius was absolutely clueless when it came to anything with work involved, so he paid for the house and Moony helped him keep it presentable, and they were always able to watch each other's backs, and James as well.

James turned back to the dining room door. "You can come out now," he called out, and Harry emerged slowly, his face even paler then it had been before. James nearly gasped. He wasn't sure if he would ever get used to seeing this handsome young man and calling him his son. It seemed too wonderful that his son would grow to be so brave, and patient, and wise, not to mention attractive. _I wonder if he has a girlfriend,_ he thought proudly. _The ladies are probably trying to bribe each other away. They did for me, and I wasn't _that_ good looking, although I am a bit taller._

"Um, Dad?" Harry said tentatively. "How do we tell Mum?"

"Leave that to me," James replied, glowing at the word 'Dad'. "I don't think it will be a problem, seeing as she already appears to trust you."

Harry started. "She does?"

"Mother's intuition, I guess," James grinned. "She's preparing the guest room for you. You stay down here, and I'll go talk to her." James turned to go, and then stopped. "Um, how old are you? I'd like to be able to tell her if she asks. I was guessing twenty, twenty-one…?"

It was Harry's turn to grin. "Twenty," he said.

James' eyes bugged slightly. "Holy…" he gasped.

Harry's smile faltered. "What is it?"

"Well…" James' mouth twitched slightly. "That means, if we're counting just by years here, that you were born when I was about fifteen months old."

They both burst out laughing.

James disappeared down the hall and Harry was left alone. He walked into the living room, allowing the feel of the house to surround him. This was his house, and he belonged here. He looked slowly around him taking in the rich red of the curtains, the stately furniture and tasteful decorations, and the elegant light fixtures casting a welcoming glow throughout the room. He removed his shoes so as not to track any mud on the floor, and curled his toes into the thick carpet. It was a creamy color, and felt soft and warm beneath his feet. The bookcase was literally overflowing with books. Harry could see several stacks that had been stuffed up between the top of the case and the ceiling. They didn't all fit, and each pile was leaning precariously over the edge, undoubtedly held up with magic.

Harry's eyes fell on a book that was obviously intended for a child and he smiled. It was called _Orin Catches the Snitch_, and showed a young boy no older than seven grinning down at his hand where a golden snitch was feebly struggling. The members of an adult quidditch team surrounded him, smiling and applauding. Harry loved the idea that his parents read to him, and that his father was doing his best to get him into quidditch before he was even old enough to understand it. He felt tears prickling in his eyes and brushed them away quickly. He didn't want his mother to see him crying and have that be her first impression of him, even though a voice in the back of his head was telling him she wouldn't care.

A creak of feet on the stairs caused Harry to turn nervously. Up to this point he had carefully avoided looking at his mother, knowing he wouldn't have been able to hold himself together if he did. He had caught a few glimpses of her, and knew she was an inch or so shorter than he was, but he hadn't really seen her, and now she would be seeing him. What would she do? How would she react? Would she like the way he'd turned out?

All Harry's previous glimpses of his mother from either photographs or in the past hour did not prepare him for the woman who came around the corner. She was beautiful. Her long red hair was darker than what he was familiar with from the Weasleys, and it was swept up away from her face so her eyes were unobscured, and they shone with an intensity of emotion, and of one emotion in particular. He needn't have worried about her reaction. Lily Potter was looking at him with love, as he had always dreamed she would. Harry felt his eyes beginning to moisten and knew these tears would not be wiped away. They stood there looking at each other for a long moment, and then at last Harry spoke.

"Hey, Mum," he said.

Lily Potter stretched out her arms to him and he went to her, all of his past pains and longings spilling out onto her shoulders as he clung to her. He was aware of a second pair of strong arms encircling him and his mother – his father. His dad. Harry freed one hand from his mother's embrace and sought out his father's hand. He stood there with them for a long time, reveling in a closeness he had always craved and never known, soaking in the love that had been denied him all his life. It was good, he thought to himself, smiling through his tears; it was good to be home.

James couldn't sleep. Lily was breathing evenly next to him with one arm slung contentedly over his chest, and he could hear his baby son whimpering and sighing in his sleep. He had spent a long while whispering to Lily in the dark, telling her everything that Harry had told him, and she had fallen asleep shortly after, saying she couldn't process it all while she was so tired. He, however, couldn't fall asleep at all. He could not get the image of the older Harry out of his mind. Not as if he really wanted to get rid of it, but the logical part of his mind was insisting that sleep was very important indeed, and he should try some.

He carefully slipped out of bed and away from his wife's sleeping form and drew on his dressing gown over his pyjamas. Baby Harry had a bucolic expression on his tiny face, and James smiled down at him, brushing a lock of hair from the child's eyes. Harry stirred and a miniscule noise escaped his parted lips. He looked so small and innocent, and James was struck, not for the first time, by the intricacy of his son's form; the tiny fingers with wrinkled knuckles, the long dark lashes, and the healthy flush of hundreds of microscopic blood vessels pumping life through those plump cheeks. But in a moment James suddenly found himself looking at a picture of this tiny child lying in the ruins of his house next to a dead Lily. He shook himself to rid his mind of that thought. Tying the belt of his dressing gown securely about his waist he passed silently from the room.

He crossed the hall and gently pushed the door of the guest room open and listened for a moment. He could hear the sound of soft breathing in the direction of the bed. The soft wool slippers on his feet made no sound as he gently tiptoed across the floor and stopped by the bedside, looking down at the sleeping man under the covers.

This Harry did not look so peaceful, but slept with teeth clenched, and one hand under his pillow grasping, James guessed, his wand. James stood there for a moment and then reached down and gently brushed a lock of hair out of the young man's eyes. Harry stirred, and his face seemed to ease up a little. He didn't wake, even when James conjured a rocking chair and sat down. He sat for some time until Lily came in to join him.

"I woke up and wondered where you'd gone," she whispered. She placed a hand on his shoulder and looked down at her son. "He is handsome, isn't he?"

"He is that," said James. "Merlin, Lily, I wish I could be there to see him grow into this, you know?"

"He has a plan James. If we can't see him go through school, we may at least be able to see him get married if this works out. Maybe have grandchildren." Lily said softly.

"I don't want to think about grandchildren yet, Lils. I'm only just twenty-one. I want to think about children first. As in plural, as in more than one. I wanted to have at least three, and four would be optimal, so each has the experience of a brother and a sister. I was an only child, so I never had either, and I've always wished I had."

"Petunia was never the greatest sibling, except maybe when we were very young," murmured Lily. "I wanted to have several children, too, and I hoped they would be able to build up strong relationships with each other that Tuni and I never had."

"Do you think we still could?"

"What do you mean?"

James turned and looked up at his wife, a hint of hope in his eyes. "If this works, we'll still be fairly young, right? And Harry will be twenty… we could have more then. We could still have this life, just later."

Lily's eyes lit up. "You're right! But… what if we age? We might have to age anyway."

"Why should that stop us?"

"Would it be practical to, in essence, start a family at forty?"

James shrugged. "It's been done before. And wizards tend to live longer than Muggles, so it's less of an issue in our world."

"We could have a little girl," whispered Lily, her face shining in the moonlight, "a little girl, and another boy after that. And Harry could be such a help, seeing as he'd already be grown up." She looked back down. "If this works."

"Well, let's just pray like mad that it does," said James. He gripped Lily's hand and stood up. "We should go back to bed. I don't want to wake him up, and I don't want to be groggy when he's explaining his plan to us tomorrow."

They walked carefully back to the door where they stopped one last time to glance back at the gentle rise and fall of the blankets. "Goodnight, Harry James," said Lily, and blew him a kiss. The door closed with a soft click and Harry stirred slightly, his hair falling back over his eyes.


	8. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6 – Prelude to a Plan_

When Harry awoke the next morning, he was struck by two things that needed to be dealt with immediately. One was that the sun was shining through a cream curtained window directly onto his face and making his eyes hurt, and the other was that he could hear voices arguing downstairs. He tensed immediately, listening hard to make out words, but from where he was he couldn't understand any of it, or even tell who was speaking.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked around for his clothes and glasses. He found the latter on a varnished wood bed stand on his right, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen. Instead, he saw a dark blue dressing gown that matched his borrowed pajamas hung over the back of a chair that was pushed underneath a desk by the bed. He pulled them on and slipped his feet into a pair of lamb's wool slippers that had been hidden by the drape of the robe. Tying the belt neatly at his waist, he padded across the small room to the door and opened it a crack to hear what was happening.

He immediately recognized the voices as belonging to his father and Sirius. They were obviously in disagreement about something, and Harry was sure that he was involved somehow. He opened the door a little bit more so he could hear better, but remained tense, ready to shut it at a moment's notice. As he put his head out, the voices ceased to be a jumble of noise and sorted themselves into understandable speech.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Padfoot. Will you just take him? We had you over here for breakfast so you could see we're fine, and-"

"I saw that you're all _alive_, yes, and I'm chuffed by that, but now you're asking me to remove your son from the house for the day, which doesn't exactly put me at ease."

"It's not because he's in danger, you great buffoon. We always have you watch him when we have to work."

"You have me watch him _here_, not at my place."

"Just take him, okay? We can't have him underfoot, and… where are you going?"

"Is he upstairs, this chap?"

"He's probably asleep, and you don't-"

"I'll just go ask him what he thinks, shall I?"

"Sirius, leave him be. He's come a long way, and - I swear, if you put one more foot on those stairs I'll hex you so hard your mother's portrait will start screaming!"

Sirius mumbled something about that being a low blow, and not much caring if she _exploded_ from it, but he did get off the stairs, and Harry let out a breath. The argument went on a little while longer, and Harry heard Sirius call loudly something like, "Don't worry, Prongs, if anything happens to you, whoever did it will have to deal with a lifetime of misery at the end of my wand," which, far from frightening him, actually made him chuckle a little. He waited until he heard the _whoosh_ of the fireplace before he closed the door again and began looking for a bathroom. His mouth tasted foul.

The room did indeed have a little three-quarter bath all to itself, tastefully decorated in various shades of blue, similar to the color scheme of the room it was attached to. Harry found a toothbrush, a pewter drinking cup, and a fresh towel set out, and wondered if they had been there yesterday, or if someone had put them there for his use earlier that morning. What really mattered, however, was that they were there, and he was only too happy to put them all to use.

About five minutes later, Harry stepped out onto the landing and headed for the stairs. The clock on his bedroom wall had indicated it was nearing 8:00 in the morning, and he was feeling the familiar pinch in his stomach that indicated it was time to eat. Harry walked slowly down the stairs, listening to the murmur of his parents' voices in the dining room, and the chink of water glasses and plates. He stopped at the bottom and closed his eyes, just letting the voices wash through him. It was surreal, but wonderful, to realize that at that moment he could have been anyone else's son, coming down for breakfast as he always did, expecting to see parents that he'd seen just like this every other morning his whole life. If things had turned out differently, he would have lived in this house for years. Maybe that room upstairs would have Quidditch posters on the wall, and there would be pictures of his friends throughout the house. He might even have an extra bed in his room, just like Ron had in his, and maybe Ron would have spent summers here. Maybe they would have switched off, every other summer. And Sirius would always be popping through, and they'd all get together for Christmas dinner…

"Harry?"

His eyes popped open and he saw his father leaning around the wall looking at him in mild concern. "You all right there?"

Harry nodded. "Just thinking."

"Well, come think at the table. Your food's getting cold." James grinned at him and disappeared into the dining room. Harry followed more slowly, feeling the same nervousness that he had the night before at the prospect of coming face-to-face with his mother. He couldn't hear her at the moment, so he assumed she had passed through the dining room back into the kitchen. The two rooms were connected by an arched opening in the wall that he had seen while talking with his father about the journal. It occurred to him as he turned into the doorway that he hadn't really _seen_ this room yet. He'd sat in it for over an hour, but the mask and hood he'd been wearing had obstructed his peripheral vision, and he hadn't much wanted to look around. He'd kept his eyes down most of the time. Now, as he walked into it well-lit by the sun and full of enticing smells, he could see that it was a very attractive room, with dark cherry paneling and two wide windows with bright golden curtains. He liked it much more now than he had before.

Lily came back through the arch and started upon seeing Harry there. "I thought you were James for just a moment, and then saw that you weren't," she said, answering Harry's questioning look.

"Brilliant deduction, Lils," said James.

Lily threw a towel at him and turned back to her son. "Good morning, then," she said. "Did you sleep well? I always have trouble sleeping in a new place, and I hope you didn't wake up when the baby did this morning. He was making such a noise, I was so afraid you'd wake up, and it was only 5:30. Did you wake up?" she asked him earnestly. He shook his head no. "Oh good. Well, we've eaten, but there's plenty more. I put a warming charm on everything, and there's a fresh plate for you." She said all of this in a rush, anxiously, and it seemed to Harry that she wasn't really looking at him straight on, but always just over his shoulder or more at his feet. He took a chair with a soft "thank you," and pulled the pan of eggs closer to him.

"James, would you get him a glass?" Lily said, and James headed towards the arch, whistling. "What would you like to drink? Do you drink coffee? Or tea? We don't have a lot of coffee in this house since neither of us like it all that much, but we do have some…"

"Water is fine, thanks," said Harry.

"Water," Lily repeated, and then called it to James, who, having reached the archway with the glass, promptly turned on his heel and headed to the sink. "Do you need anything else?" asked Lily. "I don't know what you usually have for breakfast, but-"

"Let him be, Lils," said James as he set the glass of water in front of his son.

"I'm all right," agreed Harry. "It all looks wonderful."

Lily opened her mouth and stretched out a finger as if she were going to say something else, but just as quickly retracted her hand into a fist and rested it against her lips. A moment later she was gone from the room and scrubbing dishes in the kitchen very noisily.

"You'll have to excuse her," said James, smiling a little. "We've only been parents for just over a year, and suddenly our son is grown up and can do things for himself, and she just doesn't know how to handle it. For that matter, neither do I." He looked at Harry intently, brow furrowed. "I want you to feel free to tell me to bugger off if I get too nosy or whatever, all right? I know there are things you can't tell me, and I'm going to be all over the place trying to figure out what I can and can't say, so just yell at me if it gets too much, yeah?"

Harry nodded, and continued to quietly eat his breakfast.

James tapped his fingers on the table and suddenly shifted his position from leaning back in the chair to hunching over the table with his arms folded on its surface. "Are you-" He stopped and was silent for a moment before tapping his fingers a few more times and pushing his chair back. "I'm going to help your mother with the dishes. Holler if you need something."

Again, Harry nodded.

He could hear them whispering to each other as they worked, and he wasn't sure what to think about it. Last night it had been so easy. They'd all cried a little, and laughed, and then spoken for a very short while before going to bed. Now, he just didn't know what to say, and obviously they were feeling the same thing. He cleaned his plate hardly tasting the food, and carried his dishes into the kitchen. Lily was drying a mixing bowl with her back to the arch, and James was leaning against the counter looking up at the ceiling. Neither was speaking.

"Where do you want me to put this?" Harry asked, breaking the silence as successfully as if he'd broken the plate on the floor. James jumped and hit his head on an open cupboard door, and Lily lost her grip on the bowl, nearly dumping it back into the sink before catching it again on it and whirling around.

"Um, just here on the counter would be lovely, thanks," she said.

"You all set, then?" asked James. "I'll go get the leftovers."

Harry offered to help, and the table was cleared very quickly. He helped dry the rest of the dishes as Lily washed them, and James would put them away, pointing out to Harry where everything lived. Harry did his best to remember it all.

Lily fetched Harry's clothes from where they had been drying (she had washed them while he slept), and he returned to the guest room to change as his father gathered up the journals for their discussion. The Living Room was not really set up for an intense talk, and the downstairs study was too messy to accommodate three people, so James suggested what they called the "Resting Room" upstairs, which was a library first, and a lounge second. It had two long windows that let in a delightful amount of sunshine, and there were several fluffy armchairs arranged around a low coffee table, all surrounded by shelves of books. It was a room, Harry felt, which Hermione would never leave once she entered it. But thinking about his dear friend, separated from him by almost two decades, made his heart twinge uncomfortably, so he pushed her to the side and focused his attention on the two people who were in the same time as he was. The two journals were set on the table, and James and Lily sat down across from Harry, Lily straight-backed with her hands curling and uncurling in her lap, James with his elbows on his knees.

The first thing that Harry could thing of to say surprised everyone. "Was I often underfoot?" he asked. "I mean, you told Sirius you couldn't have me underfoot while you worked. That means that you think I might have been."

"Well, yes, actually. Prongslet is pretty much always underfoot. He never stops moving, and likes to be where he can see what we're doing, which, from his vantage point, translates into right underneath us or in our arms," said James.

"Prongslet?" Harry said, a ghost of a smile flicking his face.

"Sirius dubbed him that when he was born. Junior Marauder, he said. And he's certainly living up to that title. We figured we might as well distinguish between the two of you while you're here." James looked up suddenly. "You may not know this, but the Marauders were-"

"I know," Harry said. "Moony is Remus, Padfoot is Sirius, Wormtail is Peter, and you're Prongs. I have the map."

James looked thrilled. "Do you use it?"

"When I was in school it came in extremely useful on many occasions, as did your cloak."

Now James was positively beaming, and Lily was shaking her head, smiling.

"And?" James pressed.

"I can't say much, and even if I could we don't really have time, but they got me into Hogsmeade, and kept a group of students away from a gorgon of a professor one year," Harry said, and then he sighed regretfully. "I'd like to go on, but right now we need to talk about Halloween."

It seemed like the room got darker with those words. All smiles disappeared, and Lily gripped her knees so hard that her knuckles started to turn white. "Right," said James, his voice suddenly tinged with gravel. "Halloween."

"When we die," said Lily. James glanced at her sharply but said nothing.

"When you _died_," Harry corrected. "Past tense, at least from my perspective. The hope is that it won't happen that way again."

"I know you said that time can be manipulated, like the example with the letter that you used, but it sounded like our death caused a sort of a landslide of things, so is it really feasible to try and change that?" asked James.

"Feasible, no, not really. Possible at great risk, I believe so. Essentially, the world needs to go on as if you had died, the way I remember it going on. But it's not just your death that I'm here to fiddle with. As I mentioned to you last night, the Longbottoms are out of commission in the future. What I didn't tell you is that they were both tortured into insanity by Voldemort's followers."

Lily gasped and covered her mouth, and James went white. "They found out," he whispered.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I was going to ask if you knew why exactly what might have happened, and based on your reaction, I'd say you do."

James nodded. "You know the scribbles in the journal that aren't in my handwriting?" Harry nodded. "Those are Alice's comments. Alice Longbottom. She's my research partner. If I died, and they knew something about the research I was doing, she'd be the one to go after, to either get the research itself, or silence the researcher." He bowed his head. "Merlin, Alice, I'm so sorry."

Lily put a hand on his back. "It's not your fault, James."

"I shouldn't have let her keep helping me after things got so strained. I shouldn't have let her continue. They wouldn't have gone after her if not for me."

"They would have gone after her anyway," said Harry. "She and her husband had already made themselves unpopular with the Death Eaters. They could have attacked them any day, just based on malice."

James kept his head down as Lily rubbed his shoulders soothingly, but her face was stained with a few tears. "Alice is my closest friend, and has been since we were about thirteen," she said. "James and I are her son's godparents."

This was news to Harry. Neville's godparents? He'd have to remember that to tell his friend when he got back. If he got a chance. "I'm very sorry to have to tell you that," he said, "but it's important because I know you were working with the _Cruciatus_ as well as the others, and if there was some way to prevent what happened, or to help them in the future, now would be the time to tell me about it."

Lily looked pensive for a moment. "Every experimental treatment that's been concocted in the last several years failed. Even the one they made with James' research. That's why the curse is so horrible. There are other ways to torture people, but this one you can't get better from."

"I don't believe that," said Harry. "I believe there is a way. The Avada Kedavra is also said to be unstoppable, but there was a situation in which that wasn't true. Every spell can be countered. It's just a matter of finding out how." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "That's the second reason I needed your help. I would love to find a way to save Sirius, but from what I can tell, there's no way to get people out of the veil. And that's where he died. Saving me."

James was looking at him again. "The veil in the Ministry? Sirius falls through that?" At Harry's nod, James let out a yell and lashed out against the table with his foot, nearly upsetting it. "NO!" he cried. "He can't, dammit! How many of us are going to die before this is over? How many?" He grabbed his hair with rigid fingers and pulled, pacing across the floor with tears sparkling on his cheeks. Lily had started weeping in her chair, whispering "no, Sirius, no no no."

And Harry himself could feel a lump in his throat, the like of which he hadn't felt in a long time, simply because he had not allowed himself to. He swallowed hard, forcing it back down, blinking his eyes fiercely to eliminate any tears that had managed to squeeze out past his forced stoicism. It was several minutes before any of them felt like speaking again.

When they had settled back into their seats at long last, Lily drew Harry back to the problem of Halloween, and how they were to go about preventing the dual murder. James spoke up and asked, "How do you expect to keep us out of the way for eighteen or nineteen years? I know I wouldn't be able to stand watching you grow up through the papers without ever seeing you, but I don't see how it could work any other way."

"As a matter of fact, I wasn't planning on keeping you out of the way at all," Harry replied, a little uncertainly. "Where you would be, you'd be so entirely out of the loop that you wouldn't even be aware of what was happening to me, or anyone else in the wizarding world."

"Obliviation and Mugglization, then?" asked Lily.

"No. The world still has to believe you're dead, you know, so there can't be any risk of anyone seeing you. As far as they're all concerned, you'll be buried, and stay that way."

"Meaning?" said Lily slowly.

Harry took a deep breath. He could already tell they weren't going to like this. "Meaning that my plan is to have you buried, and stay buried for nineteen years in a dormant state that mimics death, and then be revived."

Silence.

"You're saying we'd be buried alive?"

"Basically, yes."

"I see." James tapped his fingers one at a time on the tabletop. "And you have some way to manage this without suffocating us, or having us starve to death, or something?"

"Again, basically, yes."

"Basically?" Lily's voice sounded quite a bit higher than it had moments before.

"I haven't ironed out all of the kinks, because some of the potions are based on your body weight, level of magic, and immune system, among other things, and so I couldn't fine-tune them until I got here. The process involves those potions, some well-placed air holes, and a few strong insect-repelling charms."

Lily looked unconvinced, and James looked mildly ill.

"And you know what potions you'll use?" asked James.

"Yes. I have that all worked out. I just need your personal information for the last few."

"Will we age?" That was from Lily.

"I think you would have to, to some extent, but I'm hoping that we can trick your bodies into believing they're still young so we can work with better immune systems and such. It's going to be really complicated, and I know we don't have much time, so I tried to cover most of this before I came."

"So you've been planning this for a while?" asked James.

"About three years."

Lily nodded and bit her lip apprehensively. "Are you sure we have to be buried?"

"It's really the only way to go about it. If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it."

"No," said James, "There's no time to work out another plan. We're just going to have to get used to the idea of living six feet under."

Lily shuddered. "I'd rather not think about it, actually. I'd rather just be unaware of it all."

"You will be," said Harry, "because you'll still have to get hit with the Killing Curse."

"WHAT?" James looked horrified. "No. No, absolutely not."

"You both do," Harry continued calmly.

"Why do we have to do that? Why can't we get out some other way?"

"Leave the house so Voldemort can break in and kill me? The only reason I survived in the first place was because you sacrificed yourself to save me, Mum."

"I did? I mean, I do?" gasped Lily.

"So you have to be hit with it. You have to be able to make that same sacrifice, or else I never live at all. I can tell you this because I'm sure you'd do the same thing again."

"Of course I would, but it's just…"

"So, either we die the way it's supposed to happen, and this plan of yours just doesn't work, or else we die on purpose anyway, with a faint hope of waking up later, but with no surety of our continued sanity or whatnot," James clarified.

"Yes." Harry looked very solemn. "I very nearly didn't come to you at all, because I know I would hate to have that choice put to me as well, but it became clear not long ago that this really was the only path."

"You said last night that the world was falling apart, and only I could stop it," said James. "Does this mean that if your plan doesn't work…"

"Chaos," finished Harry. "We lose, and Voldemort lives forever."

* * *

It wasn't until the grandfather clock chimed eleven that the Potters left the Resting Room. It had taken a while for James especially to come to terms with his role in the plan, but there had been much more to cover, and so Harry had steered them all back on track after about half an hour's break. As he had already developed the potions that would be needed for mimicking death, Lily had offered to brew them while James and Harry worked on developing the last, and most significant potion of the lot: the one that would block the curse.

"We'll need to add your weight and such to the instructions for each potion," Harry reminded them. "We can measure all of that later, once we've worked out the rest of this."

"The rest of this" referred to assigning shifts to watch over the potions as they brewed each at their own rate and temperature, various tasks relating to preparation of supplies and ingredients, and keeping an eye on the spell chamber James had set up in the basement. It would take all of the six days to prepare for the burial, with James and Lily each drinking various vitamin and nutrient supplements twice a day, rubbing restorative salves into their skin every morning, and casting spells over the articles of clothing that they would be wearing for the next nineteen years. Which meant the clothes they would be laid out in for their funeral.

The rest of the time until lunch was taken up discussing the traits of the Unforgivables, and what would be needed to counter them. "They're based off of extremely negative feelings," James said. "You can't cast the Cruciatus without really wanting to harm someone, and the same goes for the Avada Kedavra. The Imperiusis a bit different in that you can cast it without intent to harm, but it's strongest when coupled with something darker, a desire to manipulate or humiliate."

"For the longest time, light wizards and witches couldn't cast them at all, simply because of their core beliefs. Nowadays, the line is getting blurrier, and a few have managed it, but it changed them. You can't cast one of these without it affecting you. They feed off of doubt, worm their way into the soul and just stay there," added Lily. "They haven't even been around for all that long, really. They were just starting to be used around the time Grindelwald was rising to power."

"That explains why there's so little out there pertaining to them," said Harry.

"Indeed," James nodded. "The assumption that evil is the dominant force is flawed, and so these curses that depend so much on evil intent are also flawed. Fact: Love is stronger than hate, and therefore love is stronger than the Unforgivables. So, we need to somehow harness that power long enough and strongly enough to fend off the Killing Curse."

"So, we cast a curse and feed it an overdose of love potion?" queried Lily with a smirk.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Wonderful. A torture curse that follows you around like a lovesick poet."

"Indeed," said James. Harry was beginning to notice he said this quite a lot.

"Seriously, though. What should we do?"

"For now? Read," said Harry, opening his copy of the journal onto the coffee table. "After all, you haven't discovered some of this yet, and you won't until next Wednesday."

"Then why are you showing me now?"

"Call it cheating," said Harry. "You'll still have to figure all of this out hands on, but this will help you to do it faster. Again, any tiny changes don't matter too much, as long as we can cover tracks. Just write Wednesday down on Wednesday, and we'll be good to go."

James laughed. "You're a devious one, aren't you?"

Harry smirked, and for the first time his eyes glittered with the same mischief as his father's. "Take after my dad," he said.

"Save us," Lily groaned, "there are two of them now."

* * *

James did, in fact, copy down Wednesday on Wednesday, and did the same with every other day, meticulously following his own notes and handwriting, committing it all to memory. He was particularly intrigued with all of the experiments he would be conducting over the next couple of days to get a feel for the spell he would be working with. For him, all of his research was coming together in a cohesive thought as he wrote, and he was flushed with excitement. As Harry watched him, he was reminded of Hermione scribbling away at some particularly difficult Arithmancy problems. Again, as he had earlier, he shook her out of his head. There would be time for nostalgia later. Instead, he talked with his mother about the pages upon pages of potions experiments and instructions that he'd brought with him, and she made a long list of everything she would need. "If I'm missing something, we can ask Remus to get it for us. He often runs errands since we can't leave the house too much," she said.

Lily was very excited over the potions, and congratulated Harry on inheriting her feel for it, but he was quick to set her straight. "I'm horrible with potions, usually," he said. "These turned out well because there are years of work behind them, and I had the help of an incredibly gifted Potions master during the process." Lily was very interested to know who this Potions master was, but Harry was quite spare on the subject, merely referring to him as "the Professor," and leaving it at that.

James spoke up after a while to mention that someone would actually have to _cast_ the Killing Curse in order to be able to work with it. Nobody seemed terribly keen on that idea. "It would only have to be done once," James said, "because I've been working on the liquefaction process, and a liquefied spell can be used over and over again in small bits." It was still astounding to Harry that his father had come up with a method of isolating spells in a liquid form for further study. He hadn't even known it was possible, but there it had been in the journal, and he was eager to see how it worked.

"After lunch I'll take you down to see the lab, and we can set things up for this whatever it is that we're doing," suggested James. "Lily has enough to be getting on with for the time being, but she likes brewing, so she should be fine."

"If anyone gets a chance to help me prepare ingredients at some point, it would be appreciated, though," Lily answered. "These potions are really complicated, and some of the things I'll need are hard to deal with."

But of course, all of these things had to wait until after lunch, and so lunch was had. It was simple, just toast and leftover soup from yesterday's dinner, which Harry had not been present for. While they were eating, James insisted on hearing something more about Harry's life. And so Harry told them about summers with the Weasleys, about the wonder of being the youngest Seeker in a century (James glowed with pride), and treated them to a long monologue about how much he had loved Hogwarts. He even walked them through his bout with a troll in first year, right down to his wand protruding from its nostril, although he declined to tell them why the troll was there in the first place. His parents both silently noted that Harry had told them nothing at all past his fifth or sixth year, but neither mentioned it, and instead gave him a glimpse into their own school days. Harry finished lunch with lively anecdotes of the Marauders ringing in his ears.

While he spoke or listened, Harry's eyes shone, and he smiled unabashedly. It struck Lily that he looked like a different person when he smiled, and she began to realize for the first time how much darkness there was around his face the rest of the time. She had seen before that he seemed sad, or preoccupied, but now she saw more. She saw the hunch of his shoulders, which straightened as James spoke of the way he and Sirius first met. She noted the clench in his jaw that seemed to loosen as he laughed, but came back as soon as he stopped. And she noticed more clearly the scars on his throat, and wondered how many more scars he was hiding under his robes. She would have asked him, but she didn't want to be the one to remove his smile, now that she realized what a stranger it was to his face. She resolved to bring it up later, when there was some down time in the brewing process.

At last, they dispersed to their various tasks. Lily disappeared to the Study to take inventory of what she had and see what she needed Remus to get for her, and James led Harry down the hall and to the basement.

The basement was mostly open storage space, with some pantry shelves and a utility sink, but there were three rooms on the right side, only one of which had a workable door, and only two of which had access to natural light. The first was clean and rearranged to resemble a sort of potions refinery with vials, tubes, and pipettes poised in readiness on a semicircle of tables. A bluebell flame hung in a glass bulb from the ceiling, since white or yellow light would be too harsh for the operations going on beneath.

The second room was James' Thinking room. James sat in here and thought, or read, and laid long sheets of wax paper out over his desk to scrawl patterns and plans and strings of magical components on a large scale. It also served as an overflow chamber for the First room. There wasn't much there when Harry saw it, because with a curious baby in the house, James hadn't had much time to work, and had been avoiding anything particularly volatile.

The third room was the smallest of the lot, and Harry immediately dubbed it the Dark room because of the oppressive blackness resulting from its isolation from the outdoors. It was divided into two halves, the one by the door serving as the observation area, and behind a thick wall of repellent magic there was a space for containing cast spells. There were tiny spots in the magic wall where a wand could be inserted to cast a spell or do the necessary charmwork to isolate its parts. Then there was a silver gourd on the far end into which the liquefied spell would be banished, and dripped into small unbreakable vials.

As for the potions, magical herbs and fungi would be too easily noticeable as the bodies were prepared for burial, and so Harry had elected to go with as little magic as possible by using mostly non-magical plants that had some magical properties; it was a distinction he had learned from Neville several years back when his friend was doing an independent study with Madam Sprout on that very subject. James and Lily dug through her stores to pull out what was needed and began the arduous process of cutting roots, measuring sap, and bottling the fluids crushed from leaves.

Harry was suddenly very nervous about the whole process. The focus he had forced on himself for the past three years was diminishing, as he was no longer the sole authority on the process. It was odd to have other people doing the work that he had done by himself for so long. It was nice, in a way, but part of him protested because it wasn't in his control any longer. He knew his parents were more than capable of handling things, but it didn't stop him from wanting to oversee their every move. Of course, he reminded himself, he had had the Professor working with him before, but that felt so different, somehow. He sat by his parents and helped to sort and strain, flattening beetle wings, and powdering ginseng. They talked more as they worked, and gradually Harry relaxed again, and the smile returned. Happiness crept over him in a way it hadn't for years, bubbling from his midriff up and through his head, causing his eyes to water. He was grateful for the acidity of some of the herbs, because they were making his parents tear up as well.

It was hard work, and required many spells to help it along. There was no way Lily was going to shred every single ginger root with her bare hands. She and James each murmured a charm from time to time, thankful that they would be blister free because of the magical help. It wasn't until much later, when Lily saw Harry wrapping his red, calloused hands in a wet rag that she realized he hadn't even drawn his wand.


	9. Chapter 7

A/N - Dear faithful readers, I'm a college graduate! I'm out into the real world! And I'm back at the story, at least for now. This chapter is a whole thousand words longer than the last one, so I'm hoping you can forgive my ridiculous lateness. This chapter has been holding me back for a while. I've rewritten it twice, but it just never felt right. I finally got on my own back about it and demanded I be less of a perfectionist, and suddenly it came together. It's nice when that happens. Anyway, a warm thank you to those of you who have kept reading, reviewing, and/or sending me the occasional disgruntled message. I guess it worked, hey?

Also, please go vote in my latest poll, found on my profile page. Thanks!

* * *

_Chapter 7 - Hide and Seek_

Lily tended to Harry's hands quietly, with a few pokes and prods as to why he had refused to use protective spells, but she might as well have been questioning an oyster, for all the answer she got from him. He either changed the subject, or carefully dodged the question with vague, mumbled responses. It was not the first time, nor the last, that Lily noticed her grown son's reluctance to meet her eyes about something. He had a great deal more to hide than she cared to wonder about, but she couldn't help it. So as she spread Alice Longbottom's remarkable heal-all salve onto Harry's callouses, she thought about ways to coerce him into talking. She knew he couldn't tell her much, but by Merlin, couldn't he at least tell her something?

James poked his head into the bathroom and said, "You wanted to see spell liquefaction, and I'm setting up the Dark room, so if you wanted to come watch, now would be a good time."

"I'm right behind you," said Harry.

The magical barrier was humming when father and son walked into the Dark room, and the air had a peculiarly thick feeling, the consistency of steam from a very hot shower, and caused an intrusive pressure around the temples. James shed his light jumper and drew his wand. "Would you like to cast the spell? Simple enough to do. Just poke your wand through the barrier and incant something. Anything at all."

"No, I'll just watch, thanks." Harry clenched his lift hand over his right forearm, where he kept his wand, and stared fixedly ahead.

"Suit yourself," said James. "How about a leg-locker jinx?"

His wand passing through the barrier made lake ripples, and the hum in the room shivered slightly in anticipation. James cast the spell, and the magic that shot from his wand, instead of forming a beam of light, scattered and swirled as though uncertain as to where it was supposed to be aimed. It was as if a cloud of tiny fireflies had flown in through a window and gotten stuck in a vibrating fog of bluish smoke.

"This is the fun part," James grinned, and pointed his wand through the barrier a second time. "_Amoxyllus Pigra, Execror Tardescere!_" The pinpricks of light separated further, and the smoke compressed and twisted itself into more particles, even smaller then the first, and which shone a dark, angry red. Gradually, every particle lost its individual brightness, until the area beyond the barrier was speckled with dull spots that floated gloomily in place.

"You see," said James, "most spells when cast appear as a long stream of light, but they aren't actually light. It is the properties of each spell that determine what light will be emitted, whether the spell will be thick, thin, or corkscrewed, and what color or colors will be perceived. It's really quite fascinating." He knelt on the flagstone floor and looked up through the patch of dots, squinting. "How many colors do you see?"

Harry looked. "Two. A dark red - almost a brown, really - and that sort of pale gold."

"Look again," James urged.

Harry walked forward and knelt by his father, keeping a good two feet between them. He wasn't yet comfortable enough to sit right by him. Casting his eyes up and squinting as James was, Harry stared for several seconds at the spell. There really appeared to be only two colors. He wondered what exactly he was supposed to be seeing, and was just opening his mouth to ask, when one of the dots changed. Just for the tiniest fraction of a second, it ceased to be red, and flashed… something else. It had gone by too quickly for him to name it. He watched more carefully, and as his eyes gradually became accustomed to staring at such tiny objects, he began to notice the same changes occurring frequently and suddenly throughout the spell space. The dots always changed within his peripheral vision, never right before his eyes, and so quickly that if he hadn't been paying close attention, he would have either missed them, or believed he'd imagined them. But the strangest thing was that they didn't seem to be changing the same way. One speck was certainly a dark blue when it changed, another one more aqua, and the rest just went by too swiftly.

"I don't know," Harry said at last. "They keep changing. Why haven't I ever heard of this happening before?"

James beamed. "Amazingly enough, what you're seeing right now is something that only a handful of wizards have ever seen."

Harry was surprised. "I'd think that this sort of thing would be, I don't know, common practice in research."

"It will be one day, I'm sure. But right now, very few people know it's even possible to break down a spell. Years ago, nobody believed that air could be broken down, either, but now we know it's made up of hydrogen, and nitrogen, and oxygen… give things time, and eventually someone will see them closer and more powerfully than was ever dreamed possible. That's the way it is. One person picks up where another left off because he didn't believe it could go any further. And then it goes further." He waved his wand in a lazy figure eight outside the barrier, and the magic dots began to swirl again, forming little clots. "I always thought there had to be a way; I just didn't know what it was. I figured people knew that spell characteristics guided the appearance, so obviously, there had to be something within every spell that could be changed and combined to form those characteristics. Several nights avoiding capture in the Restricted Section led me to a very old book of records, handwritten in the 1800s by a man called Bartholomew Amoxondra. Brilliant man, but sadly counted off as a crackpot and a fool for declaring that magic was made up of particles, like the dust most you can see reflected by a sunny window."

"Why would that make him a fool?"

"In the 1800s the Wizarding World was only just starting to think of magic as something external, rather than internal." James guided a wayward dot into a cluster with its fellows.

"Isn't it internal, though? Magic is channeled from a magical core inside the body, I thought."

"True, but magic in its purest form exists as naturally and commonly as air, everywhere and anywhere. It collects in the body, if the body is capable of sustaining it, hence the difference between muggles and magicfolk. Before the 19th century the mindset was that magic was carried in the blood." James grimaced. "Squibs were bled in an attempt to locate dormant magic, get it to wake up and do something. A lot of people died because of overzealous healers trying to move magic from one person to another. Disease spread like gossip. Some people still believe that the Bubonic Plague was originally caused by some idiot trying to find a way to make muggles magical. I guess he must have passed a virus -innocuous to people who can fight it with magic - on to a bevy of muggles, and bam! It kills off a third of Britain's population."

Harry was gaping. "Why isn't this told in History of Magic?"

"A lot of it is conjecture," said James, now poking at a cluster of similarly colored dots, trying to make them move over and make room for the group behind them. "There's no _proof_ that the plague was caused by magic. It's just a theory. As for the rest of it, I think it's a matter of what's deemed most appropriate for school. We learned about it to some extent in our seventh year. I'm surprised it didn't come up for you."

Harry flinched slightly. "I didn't take that class in seventh year."

"I thought it was required every year. What changed?"

Harry ignored the question. "What are you doing now?"

"Sorting," said James, casually flicking a cage around a completed bunch of particles. "Seven distinct color combinations. Now they're divided up, like to like, and can be banished to separate vials. Why didn't you take History?"

"I just didn't. I had other things to do."

"In other words, you didn't attend your seventh year." James smiled a little at Harry's shock. "I can't imagine anything that could convince old Binns to stop teaching seventh year history. It's the one class he actually likes, since a lot of it takes place during his lifetime. So, that means you must not have been there to take it." His expression darkened. "The war, I'm assuming."

"I can't tell you," Harry said uncomfortably.

"I know, I know, secrecy in time travel and all that. But can you at least tell me if I'm right? I mean, knowing whether or not you finished school isn't going to cause the world to explode, is it?"

"Suppose not," said Harry. "No, I didn't finish school. What are those things called, anyway?"

"Amoxylla, after the man who originally discovered them. He was lauded by the Department of Mysteries in 1942 when someone actually decided to find out if he was right. And he was. We now know that they're tiny clumps of infinitesimal, rapidly moving beads of compressed magical energy combined and interwoven into complex patterns. And pity, that."

"You mean those dots are made up of even more dots? And what's a pity?"

"Yes, and the fact that you didn't get seventh year history. Are we really going to have two conversations at once?"

"No, better not." Harry stood up and moved his face closer to the barrier, getting as close to one of the amoxylla groups as the magic would allow.

"You can't see all the pieces with the naked eye. You need a serious microscope. Every amoxyllus holds over one million magic particles, called dippets. Armando Dippet's brother Ingmar discovered them in the late 60s, but then he died and never did much of anything with them. His files gathered dust until the Ministry hired me."

Harry watched the swirling balls for a moment more, finding himself more and more entranced by the tiny, barely perceptible movements they made within themselves. "This is incredible," he breathed. "I can actually see it moving. I can see each dot sort of undulating, like it's full of ants. Really tiny ants. And one amoxyllus is hardly any bigger than an ant's head. They're like grains of sand, or dust, but I can see them _moving_."

"Really?" James squinted at the nearest bunch of amoxylla. "I can't see them. Are you sure you aren't just imagining the movement?"

"They're all going in the same direction. Counter-clockwise. Like a planet rotating, or the gas storms on Jupiter."

James was stunned. "You can _see _that? I've been staring at these things for months and I've never seen that, except with magnification. But that's what they do, yeah. Merlin, you must have good eyes!"

Harry tapped his glasses, as if to rebut his father's statement, but James was unconvinced. "Maybe you're sensing them? It's a different kind of sight, very hard to control. Have you ever sensed before?"

"They're so tiny. How do you liquefy them?" Harry asked, and James pressed his lips together in a thin line, frustrated at another avoided question, but demonstrated the correct liquefaction procedure anyway. Moments later there were seven little vials lined up by the door, each swirling with tiny amoxylla.

"The first spell I cast to separate the amoxylla from the magic essence, or smoke, or whatever that is, essentially slows the spell down so much that it can't hold itself together with friction anymore. Slowing it like that forces the parts to come apart so they can be captured. I know the smoke has a fancy name, too, but I can't think of it right now."

"Did Ingmar Dippet come up with the spell?"

"No, actually, that was all me. Sixth year. Almost failed Transfiguration because I was working on this instead of classwork. McGonagall wasn't pleased, but my boss was ecstatic. And look which one of them still has authority in my life." James grinned. "Pick your battles, Harry. It's your education, not your teacher's."

"What about respecting your elders?"

"Well, there is that…"

Harry placed the vial back on the floor and picked up the bottle of milky solution James had used to liquefy the contents of each vial. "Cyanide spray," he read off the label.

"Poisonous if not neutralized correctly, but also a very powerful potion ingredient. I developed that last year." Harry noticed that his father sounded inordinately proud of himself. Not that he could blame him. It was an impressive list of accomplishments, especially for one so young.

"Anyway, now you've seen this. We'll have to cast the Killing Curse in the spell space. I don't know how well it'll cooperate with me, seeing as the more powerful a spell is, the harder it is to break down. But we'll see." James started out of the Dark room with Harry in tow. "I don't think we should have a problem casting it, either. I mean, we're not trying to kill the spell space, so no evil intent necessary, right?"

Harry shrugged. In all honesty, he had no idea how any of that would work. This was the one area he had arrived unprepared for. He turned towards the stairs, and stopped short when he realized they weren't there. "Wha-" he gasped. "Where'd the stairs go?"

James burst out laughing. "What stairs?"

"The stairs we came down. They were here. This is where we came down, in between these rooms. I remember facing those shelves from the bottom step!"

"Are you sure about that?" asked James, grinning so widely he could barely speak.

Harry shot him a look. "What did you do?" he asked, crossing his arms. And then he saw the stairs. "Okay, they definitely weren't in the middle of the room before. Do these stairs change like at Hogwarts?"

"Turn around and look for the Dark room," James said. Harry turned, and saw the door just as it had been moments before. "Now go in it."

Harry walked through the door, and blinked. "This isn't the Dark room…" he trailed off, and looked back at his father, eyebrows raised. "An explanation would be useful."

"Lily must have come down from the main hall while we were in there," said James. "What door did we go through to come down here?"

"The Study," Harry answered. "We went through the Study."

"Lily came through the hall."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, let's go up _these_ stairs and find out, shall we?" James gestured grandly at the new stairs, and led the way up. Harry now found himself standing next to the back door of the house, at the far end of the entrance hall. The door to the Study was around the corner to the left, beyond the bathroom where Lily had tended to his hands.

"So there are two ways into the basement, then. Fair enough. But the room changed too. It was just storage the second time."

"Indeed. Let's go find the Study entrance, hmm?"

There was no Study entrance. The portion of the wall that Harry remembered walking through was covered floor to ceiling with a full bookcase. And now that he thought about it, it was an outside wall, so the idea that there could have been a doorway and stairs there was simply ridiculous.

Or just magical.

On a whim, he walked across the room and started pushing on various books, pulling on the shelves, and tapping the wall to see if there were any hollow spots.

"Now you're getting it," James approved. "Although, when I'm trying to find something, I generally try looking in logical places, first."

"I _am _looking in logical places."

"No, you're tapping walls. There's a difference."

Harry was beginning to tire of this game, and stepped back from the shelf. "Show me then."

James smiled and sauntered forward with the gait Harry remembered painfully from his fifth year foray into Snape's memories. He knelt down and firmly grasped the spine of a small blue book. "Here," he said, handing it to Harry, and then reached into the newly vacated spot and pushed. The bookcase sank back into the wall, revealing the stairs Harry remembered from before.

"Why was that more logical than what I was doing?" asked Harry, irritated.

James sighed. "Not such good eyes after all," he murmured, and held the blue book up in front of Harry's face so he could read the title. It was called _Looking in Logical Places: a Guide to Finding Things Exactly Where They're Supposed to Be_.

"Somebody actually wrote a book about that?"

"Amazingly enough. It's quite ridiculous. Thankfully, it's short enough to still be funny by the time you get to the end. I thought it was an excellent book to use as a key to a passageway."

"You would," snorted Harry, but he was smiling. "So, why did it all change downstairs?"

"There are essentially two basements, but they occupy the same space. All the same rooms, the same walls, just different entrances. The obvious way to get down leads to a typical basement with boxes and a pantry. This entrance is hidden, only opens to my or Lily's particular fingerprints, and leads to my laboratory. If I'm down there working and Lily comes down to get something for supper from the hall, the rooms get confused, and go with the most recent pattern. That also means that if someone breaks in while I'm working, all they'll see is me rearranging boxes. Quite useful, and I think a good precaution to take under the circumstances."

Harry certainly agreed with that. "But if you're in a different basement, why would they be able to see you?"

"I'm still visible either way, since the rooms are in the same spatially, but what I'm doing with my hands will seem different. I can't hide myself down here, just things."

"Ah." It really was an excellent bit of magic. "How do you put it back, and can it be spelled to accept me?"

"Put the book back on the shelf, and yes, but seeing as you and Prongslet have the same fingerprints, and I really don't want him getting down there, I don't know if that's a good idea. He already knows this is a door, and I've come in to find him pushing on the wall behind that book."

"But my hands are a lot bigger. You could factor that in, surely."

James thought for a moment. "I could, yes. Hold up your hand, whichever you'd use to open this." He scanned Harry's palm and fingertips with his wand, and bent to the space in the bookcase. "Why don't you go see if Lils needs help with anything. This will take me a few minutes."

There were no portraits on the walls in the hallway, most likely because they could conceivably be used to spy on the house's occupants. Harry was quickly becoming accustomed to the intense secrecy in the house, and although he understood it, and even approved of it, he couldn't help feeling a little unnerved by it as well. He wondered, had things been different, if the walls would have been hung with relatives, friends, or Order members. But there was one thing that he couldn't get used to at all, that caused him to shiver more than the security, or the bare walls. Every surface in the house held picture frames, and every picture frame held pictures. Pictures of his parents with their parents. His parents with him. Him by himself. Him and Sirius. It only took a split second for him to realize just how easy it would be to shrink them all down and take them with him. After all, they would be destroyed when the house fell, and he needed more pictures. Needed them desperately, whether or not his plan worked.

Lily, it turned out, had nearly finished her sorting and listing. She had insisted on doing this part herself, because she said that it was better for one person to know where everything was then for two people to each know some things and always have to be asking each other where to look. Harry had no problem letting her take control of that particular aspect of the project.

"I need Re'em blood," Lily announced as Harry entered the Living Room. "I never keep it because it's so volatile, but Remus has contacts in the Black Market who can get it quickly and cheaply." She looked back at the list. "I have just enough boomslang skin, but I'm asking for a bit more just in case we make a mistake somewhere, and I'm afraid my common rue has been on the shelf so long that it's lost its potency. Here," she handed the list to Harry, "see if there's anything else you think we'll need."

Harry glanced over it quickly. "How will I know, since you're the one who took inventory?"

"I meant as far as tools, or if you needed something else, a food you like, or something. Remus does groceries for us, too, and it might make him less suspicious if there are more homely things on there."

"I like treacle tart," Harry said. "Do you have treacle? And I'd never say no to fresh grapes."

"I have neither at the moment. I'll put both of those down." She tilted her head and eyed him curiously. "It's interesting that you'd like treacle tart. James is allergic to treacle, and I don't have much of a sweet tooth. I wonder where you got that from?"

"No idea. What about grapes?"

"Just ran out," Lily smiled. "My favorite. It was the only fruit I ate while I was pregnant. Bananas made me nauseous."

"I hate bananas," Harry smiled back. "But I came to see if you needed any help, or if you were ready to start brewing?"

"We could get started on the bases for the mimicry and maintenance potions, since I have what's needed for those and they both need to simmer for several hours. And the first potion, the stabilizer for the Killing Curse, that needs to be done today because it needs as long as possible to reach full potency, and we need to take it a full hour before we're attacked." She spoke very briskly, but her voice quivered a little as she mentioned the Curse. It wasn't clear if she was more worried about the spell itself, or the prospect of spending over a decade in a casket. And speaking of caskets…

"I forgot to ask, have you and Dad planned out details for your burial before this?"

"Yes, most magical families prepare well in advance, and with the war…" she trailed off. "Let's just say that it really doesn't hurt to be prepared these days."

"What are you having your caskets made of?"

"Um, I think we settled on oak, for strength, and a dark varnish of something for remembrance, I don't quite remember. It was a few years ago."

"Can you change it?"

"I suppose, but why?"

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and curled his toes in the carpet. "Holly and graphorn hide," he said. "They hold protective spells very well, seal in moisture, protect from poison and weather, and will bond most successfully with an oxygen infusive solution. Oak channels magic well, but doesn't retain it."

"I see." Lily tapped a finger to her lips. "I suppose it would be rather strange for us to request a change in our burial arrangements now."

"Nobody else knows what's going to happen. It won't seem odd at all."

"It will to the boys," Lily smiled wryly. "Sirius will take it as proof that you're a threat, if we're suddenly rethinking our funerals."

"Then don't tell him. He doesn't have to know. Does he know what the arrangement is now?"

"Yes. He helped us think of it."

"When the funeral happens, he'll learn you changed it, and he can wonder as much as he wants at that point."

"This is bizarre," said Lily. "I'm talking about my funeral, knowing it's going to happen at the end of the week. It's just," she paused, "I don't know that there's even a word to adequately describe it. It's in its own class of disturbing and horrifying." She shuddered, and hugged her arms to her chest. "This is not an experience I ever dreamed I would have, and certainly one I wouldn't mind avoiding."

"I don't blame you," Harry said softly. "I keep remembering I'm going to have to dig you out of the rubble to administer the last potion to your bodies, and I'll only have a few minutes to do it." Then he cringed. "Sorry. I didn't need to say that."

"It's all right," said Lily. "I guess we all have a lot to get used to."

"There are only five days to work, counting today," said Harry. "That's not a lot of time to get used to anything, let alone something like this."

"Out of curiosity, why _did_ you only leave six days? Why not come a month ago, or two, and use polyjuice potion as a precaution in case Remus or someone saw you?"

"For one thing, potions don't travel well through time, so I couldn't have brought any polyjuice. As for the time itself," Harry laughed ruefully. "It gets harder and harder to aim the further back you go. I gave parameters of when it would be ideal to arrive, with a little leeway on the early end, but I was hoping for two weeks. I figured it was long enough to get everything done and even make a few mistakes, but short enough that it wouldn't get awkward when we ran out of things to do. I had no way of knowing if I would be accepted here, anyway. I was afraid you wouldn't believe me."

Lily stood and smoothed her hands over her skirt to straighten a few invisible wrinkles. "But you only have _one_ week. What does that do for you? I mean, if you were counting on two, it must have been a shock."

"It is unfortunate, but not unmanageable," Harry replied. "Essentially what it means is that we can't afford to mess up, even once."

"No pressure there," Lily tried for a laugh, but neither of them found the idea of mistakes particularly amusing.

"The main problem, the one that's hardest to deal with, is that I was hoping to have time to…." Harry trailed off quietly, and then abruptly changed the subject. "This list isn't very long. You must have a good stock of ingredients."

Lily narrowed her eyes a little, watching her son's guarded expression. "An old friend of mine always insisted that I replace everything once it was used up. _You never know when your lack of powdered mallowsweet might mean the difference between life and death, and it would be remiss of you to ignore that,_ he said. He always talked like that." Lily's eyes unfocused and moistened a little bit. "He made some bad choices. Fell in with the wrong people. Waste of a good man."

It was unsettling to see his mother remembering Severus Snape with such wistfulness, and so he drew his attention back to the list in his hand. It read:

_Ginger root, unchopped please!_

_Two small bottles of preserved scullcap in rice wine_

_6__ 10 drachms of Re'em blood, as pure and unsullied as you can find, I don't care about price_

_2 scoops large ground ashwinder eggshells_

_Siberian Ginseng (if you can find any that's not dried or dehydrated)_

_Faber's "Simple Gold" potion base stabilizer - I think one large jar will do it_

_treacle_

_red grapes_

"I don't know that the treacle and grapes will actually convince him you aren't up to anything dangerous. He's a smart man, and his guard is up right now," said Harry.

"Most likely, but I can't help that. And we _do_ need treacle if I'm going to try making a treacle tart. But that's not important right now. I'll floo this through to him later. Come on, let's get started on those bases."

Potions with Lily Potter, Harry discovered, was far better than Potions with Severus Snape. It was almost fun. Lily had a corner of basement number one (the storage rooms) to keep her potions supplies, and was happy just to be showing him all her little bottles, of which there seemed to be no end. Her enthusiasm was catching. It was a large collection of items, some very obscure, and swept up by his mother's good mood, Harry soon found himself asking questions about the ones he hadn't heard of before.

The conversation was much easier and more natural than Harry would have expected under the circumstances. Lily was witty and smart and reminded Harry a great deal of Hermione, and the two soon fell into an easy rhythm of work and laughter.

The ingredients on the table were mostly non-magical herbs and fungi, less traceable by wizards and therefore a better choice in the Potters' plan. Harry had learned a great deal about the magical properties in such herbs from Neville Longbottom, who had done an independent study with Professor Sprout on that very subject. Non-magical herbs were not truly non-magical; they merely contained a much lower concentration of magical energy than magical plants. When James wandered back down from the study he leaned nonchalantly on the doorframe and watched. Harry wondered briefly why he didn't offer to help, but Lily's vehement declaration of "James, don't _touch_ anything or so help me!" convinced him it was probably for the best that his father stayed away.

* * *

Hours passed. Meals came and went. The day was almost over, meaning that there were now approximately one hundred hours before Voldemort would show up. Lily had read James' journal back to front three times to familiarize herself with everything, James had successfully liquidized several basic spells and charms, hoping to use the broken down magical energy to fortify the more complicated work he'd have to do later, and Harry had successfully discovered the secret to Snape's greasy hair after spending so long standing over bubbling cauldrons. "It's the bases that do it," Lily had laughed when she saw him trying unsuccessfully to slick his hair back from his eyes. "And any ingredients with any kind of impurity just exude the nastiest gunk."

Lily used the medieval herbal measurement system for her ingredients, adapted from the records of Ibn Botlan and Theatrum Sanitatis, two medieval herbalists who she held in high esteem. She tried to explain her reasoning and the history of ancient herbology, but Harry was beginning to tune her out. He wondered absently if she was always this loquacious, or if it was anxiety causing the looseness of her tongue. Either way, he was beginning to feel somewhat aggravated. He excused himself around 8:30 to fix himself a snack in the kitchen.

He had just pulled out a box of rice crackers when he heard the whoosh of the floo. He stiffened. Neither of his parents had gone anywhere, so it had to be a new person arriving. He strained his ears and heard soft footsteps coming towards the kitchen. He was about to draw his wand when he heard a familiar voice.

"James? Lily? I've brought the Prongslet back!"

Sirius.

Harry looked wildly around the room before darting underneath the tablecloth, just as his godfather appeared at the door.

"That's odd, I was sure I heard someone in here," said Sirius. He was answered with a wet raspberry from the baby in his arms. Harry clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. However strange this was, he couldn't help being fascinated by his baby personality. Prongslet seemed quite happy with Sirius, which made Harry's heart burn more when he thought of his fifth year.

He heard one of the dining room chairs being pulled back, and a moment later, Sirius' feet appeared under the table. "Well, he's obviously been here recently, little auror. Shall we wait for him here?" Sirius was answered by yet another raspberry and a shrill giggle. "Yes, yes I know. Stupid Uncle Padfoot just had to show you how to do that."

Another giggle. Sirius' feet stretched out under the table and Harry pushed himself backwards as quietly as he could, nearly banging his head against one of the crossbars. Sirius began to whistle to himself and tapped his feet in rhythm, coming perilously close to Harry's fingers at one point. Harry found himself wishing desperately for his father to show up. Unfortunately, James didn't seem to be anywhere near the kitchen, and Prongslet was getting bored with his godfather's lap. Harry heard the burbled "down!" and then the sound of a small body moving around on the floor. _Please don't look under the table _Harry thought. He could see the tiny shadow bending down next to the cloth that was his only shield. _No, bad Harry_ he found himself thinking. What if Prongslet lifted the cloth?

"Peek-a-boo!" called a childish voice, and the cloth began to wiggle as tiny fingers appeared underneath it.

"Is there something hiding under the table, Prongslet?" queried Sirius in a singsong voice that would have been very amusing under other circumstances, but those tiny fingers were now beginning to lift the cloth. Harry did the only thing he could think of. He grabbed the cloth and held it down. He could feel a pull from the other side as Prongslet struggled to look under, but he held on.

"Up!" cried the frustrated baby. "Tabuw go up!"

_Please Dad, hurry up!_

Sirius had gotten up and was walking around to where Prongslet was fruitlessly tugging on the tablecloth. "What's the matter, little auror?" Harry could hear Sirius kneeling by the table. "Is it stuck on something? Let's see if I can fix that…"

_Crap._

On an impulse, Harry let go of the cloth and rolled out from under the table. Sirius pulled up the cloth only a split second later, and Prongslet squealed as he crawled into his new hideout and began to play Peek-a-boo with his godfather. Harry sighed in relief, but stiffened again as he heard another voice.

"Hey, Sirius, you forgot his bag. You left it in the living room."

"Thanks Moony!" called Sirius, standing up and reaching out to take the quilted diaper bag from his flat mate. "Did you happen to see James on your way in?"

"I heard him talking with Lily in the basement and called down to him. He said he'd be right up." Remus entered the kitchen and sat down opposite Sirius, leaving Harry crouched down between the table and the wall, desperately hoping that nobody else would come in. Prongslet crawled out from under the table and grinned at Remus, who swung the baby up onto his hip, and Harry immediately usurped the hiding spot beneath the table, suddenly wishing he had the invisibility cloak, but he had left that in his travel bag, which was residing unconcernedly in the Potters' guest room. This was too ridiculous. Thankfully, Prongslet seemed happy with his new perch and did not try to get back under the table. Harry was safe for now, and free to eavesdrop.

"He blew up my lunch today," Sirius grumbled suddenly, and Remus began to laugh loudly.

"Harry has the most interesting instances of accidental magic, honestly! I still remember his first one. He got upset about something when he was, oh, three months old I think it was, and blasted all of Peter's buttons from across the room. It's no wonder Pete never goes near him now. That was his best shirt."

"I don't think this was accidental. He looked pretty pleased with himself," said Sirius.

"Speaking of Peter, have you seen him lately?" asked Remus.

"Just once. He came by last week while you were out to borrow some milk. I swear, that man is clueless when it comes to maintaining a household."

"You're not much better," laughed Remus.

"No, but I have you around, and Pete's all by himself."

"He wanted it that way. We offered him a room."

"I know," said Sirius. "I'm surprised he didn't take it. I would have thought he'd jump at the opportunity to mooch off of us for as long as possible."

"I thought so too." A chair was pulled up and a new pair of weather beaten boots appeared. Harry noted that Remus' feet were a good deal smaller than Sirius', or else he just didn't have the money to buy new shoes after he outgrew some. Sirius pulled a chair up on the other side and stuck his polished shoes out, leaving Harry very little room to move.

"He's been acting weird lately," commented Remus.

"How do you mean? We haven't seen him enough to know if he's acting at all."

"That's just it. It's like he's been distancing himself from us," said Remus thoughtfully. "Do you think something's bothering him? He looked really tired when I saw him last, like he hadn't been sleeping much."

"When was that?"

"A little over a week ago, at the Order meeting. He hasn't been to one of those for a while either."

"He's been ill," said Sirius, "you know Dung said he'd been buying headache medicine at the apothecary in Diagon Alley."

"Really?" Remus sounded concerned. "I wonder if one of us should check on him. At first I thought he was just being discreet; you know, leaving contact to a minimum to allay suspicion like we're supposed to, but if he's ill…"

"Relax Moony. He's an idiot, but he knows how to take care of himself if he's sick."

Harry was by now biting his lip to keep from shouting out. He had a fair idea of why Peter had cut himself off from his friends. It was guilt. And the headache medicine was most likely an attempt to ease the after-effects of the _Cruciatus_ or the burn from the Dark Mark on his arm. He wondered why none of the Marauders saw anything suspicious about his behavior, but realized that that was why Wormtail was such an excellent spy. Nobody would ever expect Roly-Poly Peter Pettigrew to turn to the dark side, because he was so insignificant. He wouldn't be of any use to Voldemort as a servant, unless of course… Harry's eyes began to burn at the injustice of it all.

Just then the cloth wiggled again and Prongslet began to squirm under the table. Harry reached out and gently pushed the baby back out, hoping nobody noticed. Remus and Sirius continued their conversation, and Prongslet looked curiously at the table that had just pushed him. He tried to crawl under once again, but met with resistance, making it impossible to continue. He pushed against it, and was delighted when it pushed back. The baby clapped his pudgy hands in excitement at this new game. He pushed again, and the cloth bubbled a bit as it responded to his touch. Then he grabbed at one of the bubbles and was surprised to feel something solid, yet pliable underneath. He pulled back in surprise. He waited a moment and then pulled at the cloth again. This time it rose without a problem, and he squirmed underneath to find the space empty.

On the other side of the table, Harry was crouched in a tight ball, silent as a shadow. This was not good. He had a feeling he would be laughing about the absurdity of it some years later, but right now he was only frustrated and apprehensive. Where was his dad? Hadn't Remus said he would be up in a moment?

At that moment he heard tiny running footsteps as Prongslet began to crawl around the table looking for the playmate that was no longer under the table. Harry sighed and went back under the table, feeling that this game was not going to end anytime soon. Thankfully, James had completed his discussion with Lily, and appeared at the doorway. Harry stuck his head out and motioned desperately at his father, who looked first surprised and then extremely amused. Prongslet saw his father and tore across the room to be swung up, and Harry disappeared beneath the tablecloth again.

"Hello, boys," said James.

"Ah, there you are, Prongs. I was just returning something of yours," said Sirius, and Harry breathed in relief as all the feet were moved from his line of sight.

"Thank you for that, Padfoot. Why don't you take him down to his mother; I'm sure she'd love to see him, and there are some things I really need to do right now," said James, handing his son back to one of his friends. Harry wasn't sure which, as he couldn't see either of them. Prongslet protested at first, but calmed down at the prospect of seeing his Mommy.

"I can see you never outgrew your liking for being inside and under things," said James, hardly restraining his laughter.

Harry crawled out and dusted off his robes. "It's not funny," he grumbled, but even he couldn't hide the slight smile on his face.

James laughed heartily and clapped him on the shoulder. "Why don't you head up to your room? I'll let you know when they're gone."

"Thanks," said Harry, but this time he didn't smile. He was thinking about Pettigrew again. How he wished that he could tell his father about the rat, but he couldn't. It bothered him that all the signs had been right in front of them, and they hadn't seen it. Any of it. They hadn't suspected anything. They were all so trusting, which he would normally consider a good trait to have, but he had personally learned the dangers of trusting too easily over the years. He knew that the Marauders had no reason to distrust Wormtail, but then neither had he had a reason to distrust Professor Moody in his fourth year. Or Quirrell in his first.

Harry sighed, nodded at his father and left the room quickly. Despite the rapport they'd formed so easily in the last 24 hours, Harry was still eager to hide the salty wetness that had begun to creep under his eyelids.

It wasn't fair.


	10. Second Interlude

A/N - Hello again! The next full chapter is almost done and should be up later today, or at the very latest tomorrow morning. So don't worry, this isn't all you get. I try not to ever post an interlude without a big chapter nearby.

I would like to thank all of the wonderful people who reviewed the last chapter, especially those who took the time to write more than a few words. It's so rewarding to read comments or questions, and I enjoy responding to those. But I am also grateful to everyone who reads at all, because even if you don't review, I know you're out there, and that is really exciting.

This interlude is a little different from the others because I think it's pretty clear who's talking. I thought that might be more interesting for everyone, to get some sort of idea of what's going on elsewhere.

Also, the poll is still open on my profile page. Voting is good. All the cool kids do it. :-)

Onward!

* * *

_Interlude_

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Technically, I'm just in the floo. I'm not really there at all."

"Your head is here. That still counts. What do you want?"

"I want to talk."

"Well, I don't - hang on a sec. _What, Mum? No, it's not the Minister. _Can you make it quick? It's lunch soon."

"Look, I just wanted to see how… how everyone's doing."

"Seriously, _you_ just wanted to see how everyone's doing?"

"Yes. It's hardly a complicated concept."

"Umm, well, we're here. We still eat lunch. Happy?"

"But I also need to talk to someone. Really talk. The Professor said–"

"Oh, so you didn't floo to see how we are. You flooed because _the Professor_ is trying to talk to us? Merlin, stop making excuses."

"I did floo to see how you are."

"Either you're here or you're not. If you want to talk to us, then talk to us. Don't just use your errands as an excuse to check up on us."

"I wasn't checking up on you."

"I don't know what to think about you, you know? It's like you're two people at the same time, and I never know who I'm talking to."

"It's just me."

"Right. Whatever. Lunch is on the table, and I have to go."


	11. Chapter 8

A/N - As promised, chapter 8. Again, quite a long one. I hope that's a good thing. :-) The longest chapter yet, by far. After this chapter, the action is going to really start picking up.

Once again, warm thank yous to all my readers, especially the reviewers. You're so encouraging!

_

* * *

Chapter 8 - __A-Potioning We Will Go_

If James noticed the sudden change in Harry's attitude, he didn't say anything about it, for which Harry was grateful. He didn't know how long he'd be able to keep silent if his father asked. He retreated to his room where he laid back on the plum comforter and closed his eyes, breathing deeply to fend off any more tears. He could hear voices downstairs, and at last the sound of the floo being activated, and he knew they were gone. He wondered if he would see them again before that night, when it happened. He couldn't bring himself to actually name the event. It didn't bear thinking about unless he was actually working on it, which he wasn't at the moment.

It was remarkable really, he thought, how well his parents were taking everything. They hadn't cried, or yelled, or gone into denial, at least not in his hearing. They had taken him at his word and jumped into the project. It made sense, he supposed. On the one hand, they were guaranteed to die in only a few days time. On the other hand, there was a real, if small, chance that they could survive. And time was ticking. No mistakes, no pauses, no breaks except for eating and sleeping. Harry knew this better than they did, although he was sure they'd figured it out on their own. The one thing he hadn't said, that this potion had never been tested in a real life situation. The spell had never been liquefied before, and its stability was next to zero. That several years in an enchanted sleep even with a large dose of a long-lasting nutrition potion would still probably result in starvation or suffocation, even though neither of the Potters would be awake to feel it. These things had remained unsaid, but remained present in the house, dense, gloomy, and jabbing at them all with doubt and depression. It weighed heavily on Harry especially, as he sat wondering if all he was doing was guaranteeing that his parents would die in fear and frustration, without the good memories they'd had before, with him. It was a question he couldn't answer, and as with all questions he couldn't answer, he solved it only by pushing it away and fixing his mind on what had to be done.

James came up a few minutes later to fetch his son. Lily was putting Prongslet to bed, and then they were going to plan the next day. The living room was the best place for that discussion, and Harry relaxed on one of the deep sofas, and began to read _Orin Catches the Snitch_, laughing wistfully at the little boy in the story. He was so happy, and lucky, and his parents were so proud of him. Harry could feel tears in his eyes as he read about the miraculous game-saving catch the little boy made after the team's seeker had been injured. He tried to picture his mother reading it to him, and a sad smile crept across his face. For a moment he wanted to become that baby that was sleeping upstairs. He wanted that life, with everything that came with it, good and bad.

He didn't notice his parents coming into the room or feel their eyes as they watched him reading and wishing. Lily came up behind him and asked softly, "Do you miss being read to?" She didn't know why she asked that. She had been intending to ask him if he remembered that book, but the words had changed between her mind and her mouth.

"I can't remember ever being read to," came the reply. Harry looked up at her sadly. "I can't remember ever owning a book like this."

Lily was shocked. "How is that possible? I know I wasn't there, but surely the family you grew up with –" she stopped at the dark look on her son's face.

"They were never my family," he spat, and then looked mortified at himself. "Forget I said that," he said.

But this time Lily was not to be swayed. "Who did you live with?" she pressed.

Harry looked at her imploringly. "Please don't ask me that."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think I'd be able to refuse again, and I just can't tell you."

Lily regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, and then her eyes widened and a hand flew to her mouth. "Oh no," she said, "oh no no no, they promised me. They said they'd _never _send you there. I told them what she was like, what they were like!" She grasped Harry's shoulders and turned him to face her. "They sent you to my sister, didn't they? Her and that horrible excuse for a human being that she married?"

Harry pulled away and looked back at the brightly colored pages in front of him. Lily lifted his chin and forced him to look into her eyes. "You will tell me," she said with conviction. "You will one day. It may not be this week, but one day you will tell me, Harry James, and I will find out why you've never been read to, why you flinch if we move too quickly, why you savor every bite you eat like it will be the last, why you avoid talking about your kitchen skills, and everything else that you're hiding from us." Harry looked shocked, and Lily narrowed her eyes. "You got your observant streak from somewhere, didn't you? I noticed, Harry, and although I can give you credit for being devious, I _am _your mother, and you will never be able to fool me completely."

Harry wasn't sure what to do about that. It was somehow comforting and thrilling that she could read him so well already, but it made hiding things much more difficult. He had to admit, though, it was much better having his mother trying to get information out of him than it was having his friends doing the same thing. He nodded. "You have a right to know. Once this is all over and we're together in the future, I'll answer your questions, but I can't now."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Lily held his chin for a moment more, and when he did not pull away, she seemed satisfied, and let the matter drop. She and James, who had carefully stayed back during the tense exchange, settled on couches and the conference began.

It was decided that the three Unforgivables would be cast in two day's time and the potion making would commence early the following morning. Lily set up the Thinking room as a second lab, and she and Harry moved all their ingredients in. When they returned, James had been reading over his notes with a frown, and had them all sit down again with a somber look on his face.

"I've finished looking over all the potions and thinking over the spells and such, and it's going to be harder than I originally thought. The spells I've been working with have been so simple compared to what we're getting into, and isolating amoxylla is a time-consuming and very difficult task," he said. "That means we have to plan this all very carefully. At the rate we're going, I don't know how well this is all going to work, but we won't have time for any mistakes, and we really won't have time for three separate projects."

Harry looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," James said softly, "that we need to decide which is most important: saving us from Voldemort, rescuing Sirius, or protecting the Longbottoms."

Harry's stomach dropped. He'd been afraid of this, of course, but he hadn't planned for it. "I can't… I don't know how to make that decision." He hated the way his voice shook, but he couldn't stop it. This was why he had aimed for two weeks before Halloween, so he could do more. The loss of time had never seemed so fatal as it did right now. "How do I decide this? How do I decide between lives?"

His father shook his head sympathetically. "I don't know Harry, but you'll have to. We can't do it all. If we had more time, maybe we could figure it out, but even though you planned out as much as you did, I just don't see how we can accomplish it all in five days. The potions will take time and care, and we'll need to be constantly watching the heat. The curse needs to be isolated, which will also take time, and we'll all need rest if we don't want to make any stupid mistakes." He sighed. "You did a good job, but you overlooked how exhausting this is all going to be, and that lost week..." he trailed off, waving his hand vaguely.

"Can't we use potions to keep us awake?" Harry asked desperately.

"Awake, yes. Alert and productive, no. It would be a painful wakefulness after a while, and our bodies would still be overworked, and the backlash of too many pepper-ups would be horrible. Also, we can't risk inhaling something and having the fumes mix inside us. Who knows what that would do? We can't be on any kind of potion as long as we're working."

"But, I can't choose. I can't just pick you and let Sirius die, or the other way around. And I want Neville to have the chance to know his parents, and not just spend his life watching them in that hospital. We'd need to do something to them now to keep that from happening! And now only one can happen, and it's my decision? I can't do that! I can't let Sirius die again!" Harry buried his head in his hands, gripping his hair until it hurt. "I just can't."

Lily placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You really love him, don't you?"

Harry thought about it for a minute. He had never considered that. In his life, love was a distant idea. He had never really been told he was loved, and he had never told anyone he loved them. But now, faced with the question, he realized that he did. He did love Sirius, very much. And he loved his parents. But he couldn't say he loved one more than the other. He nodded slightly.

"We need to know tonight." After a cautious pause, James continued. "As much as I want to live, Sirius had more time with you than either of us, and I realize you may need him more. If having Sirius back is what's best for you, than we'll help you get him out. It's your decision."

Harry felt Lily's arms wrap around him in a warm and comforting embrace, and he leaned his head on her shoulder. It was too much. It had occurred to him that he might have to choose, and he'd even considered in his mind what that choice would be, but being faced with it was much different. It was the most difficult thing he had ever been asked to do, and he just didn't know if he could do it. He also knew that not deciding meant that nothing would happen, and that was the worst thought of all.

The Longbottoms were out, much as it hurt him to say that. He had a niggling fear that he was being selfish, but he pushed it away as he had done with so many other thoughts that night. That left Sirius and his parents. For a moment he wondered if he could save Sirius later, but he remembered what he had learned about time travel lag, and knew that taking two separate trips of two years or more would be very bad for his health, and possibly damage his mind. By the time it was safe for him to make another trip, he would be in his thirties and Sirius would have had to keep himself in hiding for fifteen years. That would not happen. There was no way Sirius would be able to keep away. He had to choose. And he knew who, but he was afraid to say it, as if the words would seal a contract that he would never be able to break.

He steeled himself and looked up, tears brimming in his eyes. He was pale, but his voice was steady. "I choose you," he said, and then he dropped his head into his hands and was silent.

James looked relieved and proud, and placed a hand on his son's head. "Very well, Harry. Then we'll continue all this tomorrow. Lily and I usually go to bed between 9:00 and 9:30 so we can get up with the Prongslet at 5:30. It's past 9:00 now, so I suggest we all go up to bed."

Lily agreed and pulled Harry to his feet. Within half an hour the house was dark and silent, and the only person still awake was staring at the ceiling of his room, apologizing over and over to the godfather he would not be able to save.

* * *

The next day passed far too quickly for Harry's liking. Time was slipping away out of his grip and he could feel the thirty-first creeping up on him like a venomous tentacula. On more than one occasion his hands had been shaking too badly for him to add or chop a potion ingredient. Lily, both a skilled potions maker and an observant mother, had him leave the room each time his anxiety manifested itself, giving him trivial errands to run, like making sure the upstairs windows were closed. Harry knew they were a ruse, but he appreciated the tiny interludes and did not complain. He felt useless, though, as he watched his parents speedily accomplishing task after task while he fetched tea or shook out a rug. He had gotten through more terrors in his twenty years than either of his parents had faced, and yet he was the one falling apart while they were both so calm.

It was a good thing that Sirius had once again agreed to take Prongslet for the day, as he would otherwise have been completely on his own upstairs. James left the Dark room on only a handful of occasions, Lily never left the Thinking room, and Harry wouldn't have left if there had been a chance of him running into himself. At noon it was Harry who brought some simple fare downstairs for a mid-day meal, Harry who washed up the dishes afterwards, and Harry who periodically announced the passage of time. It was nearly four o'clock before there was any interaction between the three adults.

James popped into the Thinking room with a tiny vial of clear liquid and held it up to the light streaming watching the prismatic effect through half-closed eyes. "Interesting," he mumbled, and turned to leave, but Lily stopped him.

"You're not just going to come in, say interesting, and walk out again, James. I've been standing here keeping four cauldrons at four different very finicky temperatures for about five and a half hours, and I would love a moment away from it. What did you find?" She brushed a strand of greasy hair away from her eyes and waited expectantly. Harry looked up from where he'd been carefully measuring a stream of diluted Indian Violet nectar into the smallest cauldron. Very carefully, as Lily had repeatedly reminded him that it was an endangered species, so the nectar was very difficult to come by. Thankfully, if kept correctly, it could last for years without losing more than a fraction of its potency.

James held up the vial. "This," he announced, "is what's left over after a whole bunch of spells have been liquefied in the spell-space. This is the residue collected from about two months of experiments in there. It hadn't been think enough to cause any damage until today, when it started interfering with the process. So I melted it off the walls and collected it. It's bizarre."

"Can I see it?" Harry said, holding out a linen-wrapped hand.

"What happened to you?" asked James.

"The third solution of Siberian Ginseng is made with an infusion of ashwinder eggs. It's unstable and burns easily," Harry explained without meeting James' eyes. "I touched it." He examined the vial closely, then held it up against the light as his father had done. "It's empty," he said in surprise. "It's just clear, nothing floating around in it, no amoxylla."

"Not visible ones. There's definitely some in there, just completely undirected. There's no particular quality assigned to them, so they're transparent. This is what's called base magic. It's not very strong, and will just dissipate if it's released, but it can be added to a spell or a potion to boost it if it's been sitting dormant for a while. Like adrenaline when you're tired." James took the vial back and showed it to Lily. "It's not useful to anything we're doing, as far as I know, but I'm going to hang on to it just in case. It could help with the Killing Curse, maybe, though I don't know how."

"Well, there's certainly room on the shelves for it," Lily said brightly. "We've used up more than a third of my stores, and I won't be needing the space again." She stopped and looked up, shocked. "I meant, because of the new cabinet we were going to build. I didn't mean–" Her mouth snapped shut and she turned back to the cauldrons, stirring with a little more force than necessary.

James walked over and gripped her hand. "Don't overdo it," he said softly. "These are volatile, remember?"

Lily froze, trembling a little. "I ordered the wood and varnish for the cabinet," she said. "I didn't remember until now, but I did it. They were going to have it for us on the fourth." She dropped the glass rod she'd been using to stir, and Harry jumped forward to catch it. "I know you were going to do it, but you were so busy with everything, what with the Order, and the spy, and everything. I was going to surprise you. I have to cancel it, or they'll have it ready and it'll go to waste…"

She started to push around James to head for the door, but he caught her arm and pulled her to him. "They can use it for something else, Lils. It doesn't matter."

"It'll come to an empty house, James. I have to cancel it." She pushed against his chest, trying to break free. "We won't be here to get it James! I have to cancel it, I have to!"

But James was immovable, and just held her until she stopped struggling and began to weep into his shirt. James stroked her hair and murmured into it, soothing and comforting even though his own eyes were haunted. Harry awkwardly kept stirring, wanting to leave them alone, but not willing to risk the potions by doing so.

James finally pulled her from the room and took her on a brief walk around the garden. When they returned, both had red-rimmed eyes, but the moment had passed, and they resumed their work with hardly another word. Lily had successfully finished two of the four necessary potions by that evening. They needed only to be chilled until a few hours before use, when a few last-minute ingredients would be added.

* * *

Another day passed. It was 29 October. There were only two more days, and Harry did not feel like he was making progress. When Sirius had dropped by that morning to take Prongslet again for a few hours, Harry had rushed to the nearest bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet, tears of anger and frustration wetting his pale cheeks. Guilt washed over him in a hot flood, and he was weighed down and drenched to the core with it. He couldn't save Sirius. He couldn't save his godfather; after all his planning and wishing and optimism, he had failed Sirius again.

He didn't think anyone had heard him get sick, but Lily had been walking by the door with Prongslet's diaper bag, and she had to master her own emotions before making it the rest of the way downstairs, wiping at her eyes and complaining of dust in the bedroom. After that she had watched him carefully and noticed more clearly his shaking hands and difficulty managing the smallest tasks. She wondered if the "burn" he'd complained of the day before had been what he said it was. However, she was at a loss as to a course of action. It was easy to tell that the Harry that stood before her and the baby she had rocked to sleep last night were two very different people. She hadn't expected him to stay the same, but the fact that he was so closed off and so resistant to telling anyone he was troubled was so opposite the son she knew. Prongslet always went directly to her if he found something interesting, was tired, sad, or hungry, merely wanted to be picked up, or had some deep thought he wanted to share in his garbled baby speak. This Harry, after his few stories during the first two days had become much more guarded, and after the previous days' conversation he had become silent and unmoving, like a lump of cold, hard, untouchable steel.

Harry's distance went unnoticed by his father, who was so engrossed in the project that he hadn't even realized when he poured salt on his grapefruit instead of sugar. Lily knew that James loved Harry very much, but did not have the spare mental space to split between such delicate tasks in the lab and worrying about his son's behavior. He had to compartmentalize. He always had. But Lily wasn't doing such mentally consuming jobs, and so while her potion was bubbling contentedly away, she excused her son from the room and sat down to have a really good think.

It wasn't hard to tell what was bothering Harry. He was grieving his godfather's death all over again while simultaneously stressing over the project at hand. And he was bottling it all up inside, keeping it away from her. She wondered if he didn't trust her. The thought was painful, but not unreasonable. He hardly knew her, after all, and they hadn't had much time to just get to know one another. She had thought she knew him, but the more she pondered this the more she realized how little she did know. He was hiding dark secrets that were weighing him down, and as much as she wanted to lift some of the pain away, there was nothing she could do unless he opened up to her. And that, she knew, was not likely.

Harry had originally told both his parents stories about himself and his friends, but they were all so happy and carefree, and he was not. He was concealing the darkness, and it was eating away at him. Lily knew something had to be done. She didn't have much time left, and if this didn't work then this could be her only opportunity to try and make things right for him. She pursed her lips and curled her fists under her chin. Minutes passed as the potion gurgled and the sounds of James' spellwork ricocheted off the walls of the Dark room where he was strengthening the walls of the spell-space in preparation for isolating the _Avada Kedavra_. Lily stood and gave three quick, clockwise stirs to the cauldron to make sure the Re'em blood did not all settle to the bottom. The potion was turning a deep chocolate brown, and when the little specks of purple began to rise to the top she quickly doused the fire and poured the potion into an icy cold vial to shock the ingredients into stasis. This potion was to be buried with them and swallowed after they were woken up from their coffins, to provide them with a quick nutrition supplement and the strength to reach whatever safe point Harry had found. She was grateful Harry had had the foresight to choose bayberry to add as the blood detoxifier, because otherwise the smell of the glutinous substance that was hissing reproachfully at her would be quite unbearable.

Lily added the vial to the shelf by several more small bottles containing the various potions needed for this operation. They were not all complete – one she had barely started – but her job was almost done in this venture. She would step back when the theoretical arithmantical parts began. She was going to spend more time with Prongslet then, although she wasn't sure what she would do while he was napping…

Lily suddenly gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. She knew the answer to that. She knew precisely what she could do while the baby was asleep and the others were busy. She would need the Dark room, but she was sure she could sneak in there while James and Harry were working with the liquefied spells. She rushed from the room and nearly collided with James.

"Whoa, Lils. Careful, you almost spilled this!" he cautioned, showing her a glass bottle filled with a murky gray substance.

"What is that?" she asked.

"This is the leg-locker jinx combined with a light stunner," he answered. "Very simple to cast and liquefy. I was testing the new barrier." He shook the little vial and tiny black specks swirled around inside. "I wasn't going to try to break down the entire spell, because really you only need to alter one of these to deactivate a spell. If even the smallest piece doesn't work, the rest of it falls apart."

"Those are amoxylla?" Lily breathed, leaning closer to get a better look.

"Yes they are. Bigger than you expected them to be?"

Lily nodded. "And every spell is made up of these?"

"Every single one. And every witch, wizard, and magical creature has them in his blood. To cast a spell you have to be able to manipulate your own amoxylla subconsciously to control the loose ones in the air. The wand is like a siphon, pulling in little bursts of magic and fusing them together with a little bit of the caster's personal magic, and then spitting them all out on the other end. Fascinating, isn't it?" James was grinning madly.

"Then how come some people are able to do wandless magic?"

"People like Albus have become so in tune with their personal magic from decades of use that they don't need the wand to fuse and direct it any more. It's all about self-control and self-awareness. People who are the best at controlling their emotions and thoughts are the best with wandless magic, and those who let their emotions take control are consumed by it. That's why kids do accidental magic. Their minds are too undeveloped to have that kind of control, so the amoxylla just kind of spit out of them without direction."

Lily looked sharply at James. "So someone who can hide their emotions…"

"Not hide, control. There's a difference. Bottled emotions are dangerous. They make you lose control of your magic."

"I see," said Lily thoughtfully.

"I need to run this through a purifier, so I'll be using the study for a bit. Just don't go in the Dark room right now. I left the door open a little to air it out, but there's some pretty unstable magic in there still. I was trying to cast the _Imperius_ today, but it's not liquefied yet, too temperamental. It'll be fine if nobody touches anything."

"You cast it? Successfully?"

"Wasn't too hard, actually. That one worked just fine. I haven't tried the other too, but if I can get this one liquefied, then I'll feel a whole lot better about the whole thing."

Lily nodded dumbly, but as James walked past her she suddenly called out again. "James!"

James turned and looked at her quizzically. "Yes, m'dear?"

"James, I'm almost through with the potions, and I've been thinking. If this doesn't work and we… die, I don't want to have spent my last few days with my baby at someone else's house. I want him here."

James turned back carefully. "But Lily, it's dangerous…"

"I'll be watching him, James. I won't be distracted by all this anymore. I want my baby home with me."

James nodded. "I've actually been thinking about that too. It'll just be hard having both of them in the house."

"We'll just have to let Harry know that he has to knock before entering a room and we'll have to make sure we know where Prongslet is at all times. We can do that. I can do that." Lily took a mental deep breath. "And while he's napping, I can keep checking on the potions."

"And work on other, more secret projects?" said James with a smirk.

"What? How did you –?"

"Lily, I know you too well. You never look me in the eye when you're trying to hide something." James laughed at her stunned expression. "I'm not going to ask what you're planning. Just be safe." He smiled at her and walked away towards the stairs. "Oh," he called back over his shoulder, "I spoke to Sirius this morning, and he already knows he's not taking the little one tomorrow."

Lily just stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. James never changed. He always knew what she needed and took care of it before she asked, and somehow she never stopped being surprised by it. But she wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Harry was sitting morosely on the back stoop. He knew he was brooding, but he just couldn't help it. It was in his nature to blame himself for every little thing, and Ron and Hermione weren't here to try and snap him out of it this time.

He sighed deeply and stared out towards the forest where Hedwig was hunting. It was nearly 4:30, and Sirius would be bringing Prongslet back in half an hour, as he had already made plans for that afternoon with Remus. They were going to visit Peter. They wanted to see if he was all right. Peter didn't deserve such friends.

Harry didn't think he would be able to stand hearing his godfather's voice again without running towards him and ruining everything, and he really didn't want to repeat his stomach's acrobatic performance of that morning, so he decided to stay out of the way until Sirius had come and gone. He was so deep in thought that he didn't hear the door open and close behind him.

Lily looked at her son for a few moments before sitting down by him. "Hey," she said, and noted how he jumped and paled when she spoke. He was very easily startled today, like a rabbit.

"Hey," he said back.

"You didn't eat much at lunch," Lily said conversationally. "Is something bothering you?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm just stressed, I suppose."

"I understand that," Lily said with a small smile. "This is a big project."

Harry nodded silently. "Yeah, it is."

"We've mostly finished the potions. Come and see them all. They're really pretty lined up next to each other in their vials." Harry nodded again, and Lily took his hand and led him into the house. She pretended not to notice the look of surprise and gratitude that flashed across Harry's face at the touch.

Harry was very interested in the potions, especially since he had so instrumental in thinking them up. Years ago he had drilled Neville for everything his friend knew about Muggle herbs from his seventh year independent study, and then Neville had given him several books on the subject for his birthday. Harry had been almost as thrilled to receive the gift as Hermione was that somebody else had given him a book. Ron had rolled his eyes and muttered something, but the look on Neville's face when he saw his gift was appreciated made any of Ron's remarks well worth it.

The line of potions really was quite attractive, Harry thought as he walked along the shelves reading the neatly lettered labels. The first potion was a protection potion to be applied topically over the neck and lower back. It was intended to ward off insects, rot, mold, decay, and any unwanted attention. That meant his own attention as well, which was, he surmised, why he had never before visited their graves. The main ingredients were mugwort, wormwood, and passionflower for bugs and mold, the dark magic repellent lovage, and bruised holly bark as a multipurpose protection against the elements and anything else. The fact that the coffins would also be made of Holly would reinforce the potion.

"It's a good thing all these herbs are magically similar, so I didn't need to worry about specific heating, and timing, and all that.," Lily commented. "You chose very well. Just plop them in the cauldron with the armadillo bile and flobberworm mucus to thicken it up, and then it's done." Harry grimaced. "Yes I know, it's gross, but it works," laughed Lily.

"Which one is that?" Harry asked, pointing to the largest vial that was glowing an iridescent bluish color and giving off a strange, musty odor. "I don't remember seeing one this color."

"That's the maintenance potion."

Harry snorted. "This was one I walked out on then. You were about to mix in the ginger, I think. That must be what changed the color."

"14 drachms of ginger doesn't sound like much under the circumstances, and it's not exactly what you said to use, but I didn't want us to come back and still be twenty-one. I thought this was better. We need to age; it's just natural that we do. I just don't want us to age so much that our bodies go into shock when we wake up. I'm guessing now that we'll be equivalent to early thirties and still look like mid twenties."

"And then we'll gradually age you correctly after that," said Harry, nodding. "So, essence of rue, comfrey, Suma and Siberian Ginseng for oxygen flow and immune system, hyssop, lady's mantle and cat's claw for general upkeep of body systems, gingko bilboa and horsetail for nutrition… and all that simmers down to this tiny bottle?" He picked up the glass, which was slightly warm, and looked at it incredulously.

"Amazing, isn't it?" said Lily. "There's so much water in all of these that a lot of it steams out, and I skimmed off the top layer and the liquid was inside. I added in some other things as well, to preserve our magic. Later we'll add the correct amount of raw amoxylla from each of our magical cores, just before we have to drink this."

"These have all really changed color and texture since this morning." Harry ran a finger over one of the labels of the remaining bottles. It read_ "POISONOUS! 24.5 drachms Aconite to 25 drachms Phoenix blood – acidity level required 3.6. Current level:" _and then there was a number that kept fluctuating next to the colon. It was around 8, but seemed to be coming down. "How long will the neutralization take, do you think?" asked Harry nervously. "We only have two more days after this, you know."

"It should have reached 3.6 by tomorrow morning, and then it will stabilize. Once it's done then we can start brewing."

The two stood in silence for a little while as Harry read over the other labels.

_Tincture: 15d Gr. Mullein to 2d residue - Occamy shell_

_Scullcap #1 – last minute addition – 12d, stir slowly, 1 rotation/1min_

_Scullcap #2 – Additive AS NEEDED to tincture, w/ holly root and Pearled wasp wings_

_Sib. Gins. #1, filler, 6.3d to 1d water NEEDS BASE_

_Sib. Gins. #2, filler, + oak sap at 12min dilution – add stage 3_

_Sib. Gins. #3, non-filler, ashwinder eggs – UNSTABLE! Coolant applied – remove at 34min_

_Burn healant – apply IMMEDIATELY if contact w/ Sib. Gins. #3_

_12d Indian Violet var. 33, endangered USE SPARINGLY_

There were a few more bottles of measured ingredients that had not yet been mixed with anything, but Harry wasn't looking at them anymore. This last potion was more complicated than its predecessors. It relied heavily on precise timing and exact measurements. It was the sort of thing Professor Snape would probably assign as practice for the NEWTs. He was glad his mother was there, as he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to do this on his own, even with all the Professor's careful, quiet tutelage. He smirked slightly to himself. _All potions masters are not created equal_, he thought.

Lily's voice broke him out of his musings. "You can handle this, you know. It's tough, I'll give you that, but quite honestly, I believe you're more than capable of it. You're really quite intelligent, and you have the instincts for it." She looked at him pointedly. "You just don't trust yourself, do you?"

Harry winced. She had hit the nail on the head with that one. He opened his mouth, but Lily continued on as if she hadn't noticed, although he suspected she had.

"I'm really impressed, you know? By what you've done here; what you've planned out and how much time you've put into it. You've got an incredible amount of dedication. Somewhere inside your insecurities, you know you can do this, otherwise you wouldn't be here in the first place."

"I didn't say I couldn't do it," Harry muttered, but Lily shushed him.

"It was in your face Harry. I may not have been present for most of your life, and at the moment we may be the same age, but I can still tell when my baby is hurting." Harry flushed as he realized she was no longer talking about the potion. She was persistent. "But that's beside the point right now. Right now, we're talking about combining all these little bottles, and how well you're going to do it."

"You'll be here working with me though, won't you?"

"I might pop in now and then, but I have some other things I really need to attend to."

"I'm not really that skilled with potions. I had a lot of help planning all of this. I could mess up." Harry said.

"I'm just as likely to do that as you at this point, and besides, I'm bringing the baby home tomorrow and I won't be available to watch the cauldron, and you'll need something to do to keep you out of his sight," said Lily.

Harry looked startled. "You're bringing him back?"

"If these do turn out to be my last days, I want to spend them with him here instead of gallivanting with that overgrown mop you call a godfather. Yes, I'm bringing him back." Lily turned to leave the room. "Oh, and Harry? Sirius wouldn't be angry about your decision. You know that, don't you? He'd be very proud of you."

His mother's parting words left Harry with a lot to think about. Would Sirius be happy with his choice? He had to admit, that sounded like Sirius. His godfather would most likely have been angry if Harry had chosen him. He would have turned red and said, "What were you _thinking_? You had an opportunity to save them, and you picked _me_? Are you out of your _mind_?" Maybe he was. He couldn't really tell anymore. He had been feeling less and less sure about his mental state ever since that day when the Death Eaters had ambushed…

He shook his head and pounded his fists against his temples. _Stop it Harry! Stop it this instant _his subconscious screamed at him. He couldn't think about that right now. He would fall apart and lose everything he had tried so hard to reconstruct in his life. The light side had lost so many people that day, and he had lost…

_Enough!_

He tore himself from the brutal images and swiped angrily at his eyes, which were brimming with tears. He refused to let himself be distracted. He would not, could not screw this up, allowing another mess he'd caused to result in someone else's death.

His mother was right, he did know he could do this; the Professor had told him as much. The Professor had been the one to teach him most everything about potions that he had used for this project. Even though he still had some things to work through with his magic, the Professor had been a constant encouragement to him, insisting that he continue to work and practice even if he blew something up. Harry closed his eyes and tried not to think about the Professor's kind face, but he couldn't help it. He missed him terribly. The Professor's voice was soft but sharp, and had a wide smile that could have enveloped Harry's whole body if he'd stood close enough. He was tall and somewhat stout, with a bounce in his step and an inclination to laugh at anything and everything, even if it wasn't truly funny. But when it came to the academic side of things, he was deadly serious.

The Professor never considered a lesson was over until Harry had mastered the skill and was able to perform it perfectly several times in a row. There was never any room for a careless mistake with the Professor. But the clincher was that Harry had to be absolutely sure within his very core that he could do it. The Professor hated only a very few things more than self-doubt in a competent person. He had pushed Harry beyond everything he had ever believed possible, and then once that had become second nature, he pushed farther. Gradually Harry's insecurities had been broken down and a new confidence had begun to grow. He progressed rapidly, and the Professor was never hesitant to give praise when praise was due. Harry took his NEWTs independently under the Professor's watchful eye since he had never attended his seventh year, and he passed every single one, emerging with solid Os in Transfiguration, Potions, and Defense. The Professor had been very proud of him.

Harry couldn't help smiling at the memory of the Professor's face as he looked over Harry's scores. His white hair had shimmered in the candlelight and his dark eyes had twinkled merrily as Harry showed him the parchment with the excitement of a toddler showing off a crayon drawing he had made in daycare. _Excellent Harry,_ he had said warmly, _very well done indeed_. The Professor had always believed he could do it, and it was because of that support that Harry was able to achieve what had been placed before him.

So why had he allowed all of his insecurities to return now, when everything depended so much on his confidence and focus? Was it because the Professor wasn't there beside him anymore? Harry frowned, thinking hard as he walked aimlessly around the Thinking room. He hadn't felt so uncertain of his own abilities since before he took his NEWTs, and that had been several years ago. The need for haste was draining him, he realized, because he couldn't afford to make the tiniest mistake now. He understood finally what the Professor had meant when he told Harry to beware, not of failure, but of the fear of failure. Fear was debilitating, and Harry had let himself glide down into his own fears until logic was wiped out. His mother was right. Somewhere deep in his insecurities, he knew he was capable. And he knew he should know better.

With a new determination forming in the pit of his stomach, Harry squared his shoulders and walked out of the room to the stairs. He listened carefully at the kitchen door and heard voices and the unmistakable shriek of a baby on the other side. So Prongslet was back, then. He waited a little longer and once the voices died away he opened the door and passed quietly through the kitchen and up to his room. He opened his rucksack and pulled out a pair of glossy black gloves. He wore them when he was working with difficult potions because he always got so tense, and they steadied his hands. The Professor had suggested them, because he knew that Harry's anxiety was not related to a lack of self-confidence, but rather a deep-seated fear of failure that had become etched into his subconscious. The boy didn't need the gloves, but it was a mental exercise, and if it worked, then so be it.

Harry loved his gloves. They were so thin that they hardly made a difference to his finger thickness, which was convenient for cutting and measuring very small ingredients. They melded to his hands, and even though he knew they did nothing for his anxiety but trick his mind, he wore them. They also protected him from the inevitable spills and accidents that caused most potions masters to lose feeling in their fingertips.

He glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was nearly 6:00 already. He hurried back down into the basement to close down the Thinking room for supper and make sure there was an alarm set to alert him when the Aconite and Phoenix blood mixture was ready. He heard the creak of stairs and knew somebody was probably heading up to put Prongslet's nappy bag where it belonged. He was about to go back upstairs when he noticed something odd. The door to the Dark room had been left open. He walked over to close it, but as he placed his hand on the knob to close it and looked up into the room for a second, his feet froze to the floor and his jaw dropped. His intention to shut the door fled from his mind and he instead pushed it wider and stepped through it.

The room was no longer dark, but shimmered with an ethereal glow that was emanating from behind the magical barrier. Harry watched the reflections of light dance on the walls as if he were underwater, before turning and looking at the barrier; or, more specifically, what lay beyond it.

It was light; strands of greenish-yellow light pulsing and quivering and battling with the walls as if trying to escape. Harry was reminded of the electricity show that had once visited his primary school from a nearby museum. Was this a spell? Was this what they looked like, really? It was no longer a single stream of light heading in a specified direction. This was a creature all its own, bucking and twisting in its prison, every now and then sending out a tendril that would caress the wall searching for a weakness and then snap and explode, showering the floor with tiny sparks that glowed for a second before being sucked back into the center of the enclosure.

_Like solar flares,_ Harry thought absently to himself as he walked slowly forward, listening to the hissing of angry magic beyond the wall. He had never seen anything like this. It was so startling and frightening, and yet so incredibly beautiful. It seemed to be alive. In fact, as he neared his goal, the spell flared higher, bouncing from the ceiling to the floor and spitting long tentacles of compressed light directly towards him. The beams collided with the barrier with a ringing sound, and shattered. The fragments glittered in the air like so many green dewdrops before succumbing to the force of the whole and whizzing back into the spell once again.

Harry lifted a hand and held it parallel to the wall, watching as the tendrils of magic pushed up against their restraints to meet his fingers. Tiny strings traced his hand on the other side of the barrier, and on an impulse he could not explain, he moved his hand until it connected with the invisible screen.

It was unlike anything he had ever felt. It was warmth and softness, reassurance and wisdom; it was eons of memories and yet only seconds of existence. It was wonder and fear, gentleness and sharp edges. It was purity and ruthlessness; it was completion and togetherness, harmony in dissonance, and peace in disarray. Harry closed his eyes and just let the feelings wash over him. He didn't know why he was doing this. A part of his mind was screaming at him to pull away because he had no idea if this would hurt him, but he ignored the voice. For the first time in many years he felt calm and collected, as if he could relive every trial he'd faced and yet never hurt for them. This moment in time was free of trouble, and he embraced it, reaching up and placing his other hand against the barrier, where new bits of magic eagerly sped to greet him. He could feel the pull of the magic in his body, as if it were trying to merge with him. Perhaps it was. Perhaps he wouldn't mind so much if it did.

As his second hand connected he breathed out in ecstasy and felt a new connection forming. Now it was a circuit, the magic pulsing in one hand, through his body, and out the other hand. The wall was closer to him now than he remembered it being, but he couldn't recall moving his feet. He felt them beginning to prickle in his trainers and kicked the shoes across the room, bringing his toes up against the welcoming warmth that was hovering only inches away from them.

The hissing and popping stopped. All that could be heard was a gentle humming noise that was gradually matching his heartbeat. He felt as if he was on the verge of something wonderful and forbidden; as if any moment something would be complete in him. A light sweat broke out on his brow as the pulsing became stronger, consuming him, surrounding and absorbing him, and he felt himself sinking further in, his breath slowing down and his body relaxing. For a moment, he felt a twinge of magic in his head, and instinctively threw up his Occlumency shields, pushed back against it, feeling it out, stretching his senses to taste it, touch it, smell it, and listen to its unearthly music. He almost felt as if he could actually see it in his mind's eye, and with the curiosity of a small child reaching a finger to an electrical socket, he pulled down his shields and let the magic in.

It was as if time had stopped. The world had ceased its turning and every bead of condensation on every leaf of every tree in every part of the world was frozen and unmoving. Harry's body felt light and warm, and comfortable, while his hands tingled incessantly and almost painfully. A bright light had wrapped itself tightly to his eyes the moment he had let the magic in, and was beginning to squeeze him. For the first time he began to feel afraid, but he pushed back at it, denying it. His body shook as the magic pressed against him and he returned the force, push for push, touch for touch, and a fierce battle began.

He tried to replace his shields, but they were no longer responding to him. They formed half-heartedly before collapsing back with an indolent sigh. He tried again and again to raise them, each time with more stinging pain in his temples, but they no longer so much as twitched in response. He felt as though he had been straining for an hour, or more, but for the feeling of timelessness that still surrounded him. He struggled against the invader with such passion that he began to gasp for air, and the painful beats of his heart and the magic in tandem started to vibrate in the nerves around his eyes.

He held his breath for a last willful push, and the earth began to spin again and time continued its never-ending journey. And then as his mind began to tire, he felt the magic give, and bend to his instruction, and the music increased until it was almost deafening and began to sap the strength from his limbs.

Behind him, he heard a gasp and a cry of "Harry!" then footsteps approaching and the murmur of voices, but he hardly registered them. He allowed himself to keep sinking into the pillow of magic, noticing briefly that he was now kneeling on the cold floor without feeling it or knowing how he'd gotten there. It was nearing the end. A rush of heat and a deep tingling sensation near his throat and heart caused him to gasp and cry out, and for a moment he was floating somewhere full of strange music like the one he had heard in the room, and he felt a burst of joy and wonder at this new world, before darkness began to creep around his eyes, and with a jolt of pain, the world fell silent once more.


	12. Chapter 9

A/N - I want to thank again all my wonderful reviewers, especially heya-gurl, Selene467, and Kybo, for being so encouraging and enthusiastic about this story. This chapter is a little shorter than some of its predecessors, but I wanted to end on something positive and non-cliffy for a change. The next chapter after this one is where it starts getting crazy-face.

Also, I'm going to go back and do a bit of revising the previous chapters for pacing over the next couple of weeks, because it really is going a bit slow. Because of that, the next update may or may not take a while.

_

* * *

Chapter 9 - A Crisis and a Curse_

"Rough ride, Padfoot?" smirked James, taking in Sirius' soot-covered figure as it emerged from the fireplace.

"You try traveling by floo while hanging onto a squirming kid. It's not exactly a picnic. I was concentrating so hard on not letting him decapitate himself on the walls that I now have a permanently cracked funny bone," winced Sirius, handing off his burdens.

"Well, you'll have an excellent scar story to tell people now, won't you?" James laughed, taking the diaper bag as Lily reached for her son. Prongslet squealed happily at being with his mother again, and Lily's mind flew to another face that lit up upon seeing her. Even after years of being motherless, Harry still responded the same way to her, although now his eyes were sad. Lily hugged Prongslet tight to her chest and breathed deeply of his comforting baby scent, fixing every bit of him deep into her memory. She started trembling despite herself, a sudden panic overwhelming her.

"I'm off now. Remus and I are going to check on Peter, just to see if he's all right, you know. He's been acting a bit strange, and we think he may be ill," said Sirius. "If he's not ill, then something else is up."

James frowned. "He hasn't tried to contact us in ages, now that you mention it. It's amazing how easy it is to forget him, really. He's invisible when he's not right in front of you."

"Exactly. The only thing is, I'm so used to him showing up unannounced on our doorstep asking for something or other. He can be so incompetent on his own, and yet he hasn't been around. It's just odd." Sirius had noticed Lily's stillness and was regarding her shrewdly. She seemed to feel his eyes and looked up.

"Maybe he's trying to prove that he can live without you?" she suggested, bouncing Prongslet on her hip. "He might have finally realized that he's an adult, too."

"Hmm, maybe," conceded Sirius, "but you'd think he'd have turned up to brag about it." He opened his mouth to ask a question, but James cut him off.

"Well, go see what's going on, and let us know, okay?"

Sirius looked at him sharply before answering. "Will do, Prongs." He hesitated a moment in front of the floo. "Take care of yourselves, yeah?"

"Of course, we always do," said James.

"I mean it James, this isn't the time for anything… I don't know, anything heroic or adventurous. You have a kid to look after, too."

Lily's eyes flashed and James looked offended. "Do you actually think, for one second, that either of us would ever do anything at all to compromise Harry's safety?"

"Well, of course not, but–" Sirius looked uncomfortable. "You're not making it easy, are you? As much as I trust _you_, Prongs, I can't trust him, and so far, nobody has really given me any reason to. It's just, it's hard to be on the outside on this one, James. We've always done things together, you always tell me things, and lately it's all about secrets. I can't help worrying."

"I can't tell you more." James looked sadly at Sirius. "I can't pretend I haven't been distant, because I have, and I'm _sorry_, Padfoot, I really am, but you have to trust me on this."

Sirius nodded reluctantly. "I know. I don't like it, but… all right." He grasped James' hand in his own and held it firmly, locking his eyes on his friend's. "Gotta check on Pete," he said abruptly, and disappeared through the floo.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then James sighed. "They're right, you know, about Peter? It's not like him to go so long without contact."

"Do you think something's happened to him?" asked Lily in concern.

"Nah, the Death Eaters just ignore him like everybody else does. Nobody ever pays attention to Peter. He's probably just trying to prove something to us, like you suggested." But James sounded unconvinced, and continued to stare bleakly at the fireplace. "I never wanted to hurt them, Lils."

"I know," said Lily, placing her hand softly on her husband's shoulder as he gripped the hair on the back of his neck. "But we can't help that. We can't tell them."

The Potters stood in silence for a moment or two as Prongslet wriggled to get down. Lily set him on the floor where he began to crawl around her feet, and then retrieved the diaper bag from James and took it upstairs. She returned to find her husband still standing where she'd left him, gazing down at Prongslet with a slight frown on his face, his hand still buried in his hair. James was first to break the silence. "Where's Harry?"

"Probably still down in the Thinking room. We had a talk about some things, and he was pretty deep in thought when I left him, probably about twenty-five minutes ago. Why?"

"Haven't heard him in a while is all. I thought I heard him run up the stairs about fifteen, twenty minutes ago and then down again just before Sirius got here, but nothing else."

"Well we could go check on him I guess – what was that?" Lily froze. A peculiar humming noise was reverberating through the floor, like a heartbeat, thrumming against their feet. "We're right over the Dark room, aren't we?"

James looked at her sharply. "Did you say anything to Harry about not going in there?"

Lily shook her head. "I was sure you would have taken care of whatever you left in there by now… you wouldn't be so stupid as to leave unstable magic alone in there all afternoon, would you?" The shocked expression on her husband's face answered her question and she turned and raced towards the study. Of course, this was James. She could never count on him being conscientious, despite how much he'd matured since their fifth year.

James passed her and reached the bookshelf in the study first, and wasted no time in pressing his hand against the shelf. He wrenched it open and covered his ears as the thrumming reached a powerful volume. "Harry, don't touch anything!" he yelled, and leapt down the stairs two at a time.

The entire basement was shaking with the force of the pulsating magic. James rounded the corner to the hall by the Dark room and slipped, nearly falling on a mass of gleaming green beads that were lying on the floor emitting an eerie glow. A choking feeling of fear crept into his throat; the presence of these overlarge, hardened amoxylla in the hall meant the barrier had been breached and the magic was now uncontrolled. The _Imperius_ curse was loose in his basement. He regained his feet and stepped carefully over the slippery green mess on the floor to look cautiously around the door with his wand clamped firmly in his hand.

It was chaos. The spell had gone feral, and was spitting furiously and smiting the barrier, which though it still stood was obviously weakening with every assault. The very bottom of the barrier no longer made contact with the floor, and it was from here that tendrils of magic were squeezing themselves and shattering into thousands of tiny particles that rolled every which way. The magic was forcing its way through every imperfection of the containment field and reaching with corybantic desire towards freedom. The wall rolled like a sea in the throes of a furious storm, and as James watched in horror, the impediment keeping the ferocity of the wild spell from bursting free began to crack and bend, and the assault was redoubled.

Harry was standing in the very center of the room, his hands pressed against the barrier. He was wrapped in a thick cocoon of light, his hands tethered by bright cords. The magic around him was still and calm, but for the constant rhythmic pulsations, and James realized that this center was the source of that beat. It was a heartbeat. It was Harry's heartbeat. The magic was touching the boy's face, hands, head, and chest with a fierce intensity, and appeared to be sucking something from within Harry's body. James gasped and ran forward into the room, drawing his wand. This creature he had created was stealing Harry's personal magic. As he ran forward, a particularly bold arm freed itself from behind the enclosure and struck him, causing him to stumble back several feet. The spot on his shoulder where the magic had come in contact with the fabric of his shirt was smoking slightly.

James dared not cast any spells, lest they only add to the mass of power before him, or in case he accidentally hurt his son. As he stood helpless, Harry's face paled to a stark white, and he sank down to the floor, his body beginning to shimmer like the haze over an asphalt road in high summer. His form became blurry and unfocused, and seemed to shake in the light, as he made tiny movements at an astounding speed. His hands jerked up or down, his head shook from side to side as if trying to free itself. He was quivering blindingly fast, as if he were a film clip that had been sped up until the picture was no longer clear.

James heard a cry from behind him and saw Lily standing there, her hands over her face. "Stay there!" he yelled. "I don't know what's happening!"

He turned back and tried to think of something, anything he could do, when the barrier finally gave way and burst asunder, allowing the entrapped magic to careen joyfully from its prison and fill the room. James threw his hands over his eyes to shield them from the blinding effulgence that besieged him, and the quietly powerful authority that started to take over his mind. He found himself thinking in dismay, "No, not this way! We're not supposed to die yet! We're not supposed to die at all!" when the world quieted and settled, and the pulsing died away so the hum they had first heard was barely audible.

James opened his eyes cautiously, and gasped in confusion and astonishment. The magic that had been barreling around with reckless abandon was completely frozen in place, heading for the door, the ceiling, or just winding around exploring the room. James reached out a finger towards one of the immobile beams, and found with bewilderment that he could push it in and leave a dent. He could have drawn a design if he had wished. His finger felt warm and slightly numb as he pulled it away. He turned to look at Lily.

The beads that had risen up into swirling funnel clouds in the hall were now unearthly sculptures suspended in the air, and Lily was able to cup some of the tiny spheroids in her hands. At this close proximity she could see that they were not in fact perfectly round, but all slightly misshapen like natural, unpolished pearls. She met James' eyes in wonderment, and her own eyes mirrored his unasked question of what in Merlin's name was going on.

As quickly as the world had come to a halt, it was hurled into motion again as the beads clattered to the floor like hailstones and surged like so many lightning bugs back into the Dark room, where they met with a strong vortex of wind and sound, sucking them into the center of the room, where the barrier reformed in an instant. With a last desperate flash, the magic dissipated and fled, leaving the room untouched, and Harry lying motionless on the floor.

James rushed forward, crying Harry's name in panic, and rolled his son over so his face was visible. Harry was no longer white, but neither had he regained a healthy color. His face was relaxed though covered in a thin sheen of sweat. A tiny, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his body, and his eyes twitched behind their lids, but apart from this and his shallow breathing he gave no signs of life. James shook him slightly, and Lily appeared by his side and pulled Harry's head into her lap.

"What's wrong with him?" she whispered.

"I don't know. I have no idea what just happened. I mean, that was pure magic. That wasn't just a spell, Lils. That was magic in its uncontrolled form. But the barrier should have kept it in. He shouldn't have been able to even touch it, let alone be surrounded by it, but he's–"

A slight movement from Harry cut off James' sentence and he looked down. Lily placed her hands on either side of Harry's face and stared intently at his closed eyes. Harry coughed slightly and his eyelids flickered. Lily called to him just as softly, and moments later he was looking sleepily up at them.

"Erm, hello," he said, his voice coming out thickly and a little slurred.

James sat back and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "Are you okay?" he said at last.

"I think so," came the reply. Harry sat up slowly and gingerly touched the back of his head. "I think I may've hit m'head, though."

"What were you doing?" asked James, his curiosity overpowering his concern for a moment.

"I dunno, I just kinda wanted to… touch it, f'some reason. And then I jus' didn't back up, I guess."

Lily wrapped her arms around him from behind and buried her face in his shoulder. "That was stupid, Harry James Potter! Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

Harry looked awkwardly at his father. "Oops?" he said.

"Oops? That's all you can say? Do you realize what could've happened just now?" said James.

"But m'not hurt, I don' think, s'no hard feelings, right?" Harry said hopefully.

"Harry, first cardinal rule of experimental spellcasting: NEVER under ANY circumstances touch anything with your bare hands. That goes for just about anything that involves uncertainty in magic. You should be dead, Harry!" said James, "And with less than two days left!"

"That wasn't particularly intelligent of me, was it?" Harry concurred.

"No," Lily replied sharply.

"For heaven's sake Harry, you just… do you have any idea… Dammit, Harry! Just don't _do_ things like that!" James gripped Harry's shoulders and shook them, then lowered his forehead and began rubbing slow circles into his temples. A moment later he looked around the room as if suddenly remembering something, and gasped, "Where's Prongslet?"

Lily's head shot up. "I put him in his chair in the kitchen so he'd stay put while we came down here. Did the magic, it went up the stairs!" She abruptly ran from the room and her footsteps could be heard pounding towards the kitchen. A moment later her slightly panicked voice called out, "James! Come up here!"

James hesitated and looked questioningly at Harry.

"M'okay," said Harry, and James bolted as well. Harry got up slowly and followed him from the room, leaning on the wall for support. He felt drained, like he did after a particularly hard day with the Professor, but this time all the work had been in his mind. He wondered how long he'd been in there. "Hours, I should think," he said to himself. He could remember every moment of his battle with the seemingly cognizant magic, and there was rather a lot to remember.

Harry neared the top of the stairs and heard his parents talking in worried voices. He stopped just out of sight to listen.

"I think he must have been hit by one of those little beads. This mark here, it's a burn, a pretty bad one." Prongslet whimpered and sniffled. "I know, baby, I know, it hurts, I'm sorry. No, don't touch it, Harry. Maybe we should call a healer…"

"We can't do that, Lily, and you know it. Not if it isn't an emergency."

"Then what? Albus might be able to do something, but he's off on Ministry business until the end of the week. It looks so red and painful."

"Put some ice on it."

There was a tiny wail and Lily became more frantic. "What if it hurts him permanently, James? What if it affects him in ways we can't help? What if–"

"Come on, Lils. It's just on his arm, and it doesn't look too bad. Here, let me see it."

Harry had been confused at first, but as the conversation went on he began to smile. He glanced into the kitchen to make sure the baby was faced away from him, and gently pushed the door open and stepped into the room. "He'll be just fine," he said. James looked at him uncertainly.

"It's a pretty big mark Harry, what if it changes something?"

Harry just grinned and rolled up his sleeve to show a quarter-sized mark on his left forearm, right below the elbow. James' lips quirked and Lily did a passable imitation of a goldfish, much to Harry's amusement. "I always wondered where this came from," he mused. "It's never given me any trouble."

* * *

Dinner was a subdued affair. Harry was too tired to eat anything, and Lily and James were too shaken to press him. Lily had Prongslet sit at the table with them, but faced away from Harry. The baby was the only one at the table who seemed entirely unconcerned with what had happened. He simply picked up a piece of chicken in two of his tiny fingers and proudly displayed it to his mother before stuffing it into his mouth. The silence was becoming quite oppressive.

Finally, Harry sighed. "I don't suppose saying I'm sorry would help at all," he said.

James looked up. "What? Oh, no, I don't think that's–" He paused, then continued slowly. "The thing is, I know I'm your father technically, but we're about the same age right now and, well, I haven't really got the right to tell you what you should or shouldn't have done in that situation, because honestly I think I'd have done the same thing." James looked up at Lily for a moment and then back at Harry. "I'm just shaken because, for a moment there, I thought you'd died, and I kept thinking how you'd gone through all this trouble and come all this way, and to have it end like that, it just didn't seem right, you know? And that I wouldn't have that chance to know you later, and I'd die having seen you die…" he trailed off, and Lily reached over and placed her hand reassuringly over his.

"Harry, I might as well just tell you this," James continued suddenly. "Watching you these past few days, seeing how hard you work and how dedicated you are, I've never been prouder. It's an incredible feeling, seeing Prongslet here, being a baby, and knowing he's going to grow up to be you. It's," James sat back and ran a hand through his messy hair. "It's just amazing I guess. And I don't want to lose that. I don't want to lose this chance to get to know you. I think the thing that's bothering me most is how close we came to losing this dream altogether, and Lily and I have had countless talks about wanting to watch you grow up, and we're not going to have that, but we could have the grown-up part, and…" He waved a hand in the air. "I don't even know what I'm trying to say anymore."

Harry had the grace to look ashamed. "But I think I understand, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I wasn't really thinking ahead." He paused. "But there's something I don't understand. I was down there for hours, it felt like, but according to that clock, it's only been about an hour from when I got in there to now, and I've been out for, well, at least half an hour."

"Hours?" questioned Lily.

"Yeah, I mean I had this whole battle and it took forever, and I remember all of it."

"Battle?" James stood up and walked over to Harry and looked him directly in the eye, holding his gaze for several moments. "Are you sure?" he asked. "About how long you were down there, I mean."

"Well, I had to have been, because I remember so much."

"And you say you had a battle?"

"In my mind, yeah. With the magic."

James looked both intrigued and completely stunned. He straightened and ran his hand through his hair again. "And this took hours, you say?"

"That's what it felt like." Harry looked from one parent to the other. "So…?"

"Harry, you can't have been in that room for more than fifteen minutes, tops, and we were there for five of it," said Lily, holding Prongslet's chin still and wiping the protesting child's face with a cloth.

"Fifteen minutes?" said Harry incredulously.

"Yup, fifteen." James hadn't stopped staring at him and it was making Harry feel very twitchy. He raised his left hand to scratch his neck and his sleeve fell down to display the burn scar again. He quickly covered it up again, but not before his father had noticed it and flinched. Prongslet's left forearm was wrapped carefully in gauze and burn paste, and although the baby seemed to have forgotten about it already, his parents clearly had not.

Lily pulled Prongslet out of his high chair and carried him out of the room, presumably to change him and put him to bed. Harry watched her go, observing how carefully she held the child's attention away from him. "So, what did you see, Dad?" he asked at length.

"I saw the magic acting like some crazed, rabid animal, and you in the middle flitting in and out of focus like a floo with a bad connection. You were moving with these really tiny, erratic movements, like you were really sped up, and then the barrier broke." James was watching his son's face carefully for any reactions, but Harry's expression remained stoic and thoughtful. "The magic flew around the room and through the house, and then it just froze for a moment, and we could touch it." That got Harry's attention. "I left a fingerprint somewhere, and Lily could have made jewelry from the little bits it left around. The next second, it was all sucked back into the room and just kind of dissipated, and left you on the floor."

Harry looked very interested now. "Did you see anything else, Dad?"

"Like what?"

"Like where the magic disappeared to, or anything to tell you why it left?"

"No, I don't think so."

Harry slumped in his chair and tapped his fingers on the table. "I'm going to go ask Mum."

He raced up the stairs and peeked into the master bedroom, where Lily was pulling a set of red pajamas over Prongslet's little head. He repeated his question.

Lily placed Prongslet on his back in his crib and placed her hand on his tummy. "I don't know what I would have seen, Harry. I was more just wondering if we were all going to die, frankly."

"Just, think about it, okay? It's important."

Lily sighed, and rolled the baby over onto his stomach and covered him with a blanket. She flicked her wand at the overhead light and it dimmed considerably. "My goodness, you were tired, weren't you? Already asleep," she whispered, and crossed the room to Harry. "Usually he stays awake until I've sung him a song."

"You sing to me?" Harry said, looking absolutely delighted at the thought.

"Every night." Lily smiled, and then turned thoughtful. "I can't say I really saw anything at all, other than what your father has already told you, but I can remember feeling something." She stepped out into the hallway and led him back downstairs.

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"When everything froze like that, there was a sort of antsy feeling to the air. I felt almost like the magic was straining against something, as if it was annoyed. It's strange to speak of magic like a living, cognizant being, but that's what it felt like, now that I think about it. When the vortex sucked it all back into the room, it was as if it was being pulled against its will, like it hadn't wanted to go back. There was a feeling of, I don't know, helplessness. Like it had lost its freedom."

"Maybe, like it had lost control, or was being controlled?" Harry pressed.

"Well, yes, now that you mention it." Lily looked at him searchingly. "What does that mean to you?"

"I'd like to know that as well," said James, as mother and son joined him in the family room.

Harry sat down on the rich carpet and smiled slightly. He told them what he had felt; of the humming and pulsing, of the force he had felt in his mind and how he fought to keep it from taking him over. "After a while, I was getting tired, and suddenly it just went limp on the other end, and I was able to push it back out, but the connection stayed. I really felt like I was in control of it, and I could feel how unruly it was being, and I told it to come back in the room and go away so I could sleep. I was really tired by then."

James looked at him in shock. "You _told _it to?"

"Yeah. I just reached out to it and told it what to do, and it disappeared, and I felt really light and happy for a moment like I was being lulled to sleep. I remember a sharp pain, which must have been my head hitting the floor, and then I passed out." He looked up at his thunderstruck parents. "I already knew I could throw off the _Imperius_, and that's what that was, right? So I'd done it before."

James shook his head. "No, throwing off a cast spell is very different from fighting off wild magic. What you did is quite phenomenal, really. I only know of one other wizard who can just command magic around like that."

"Oh?" said Harry, very curious.

"Albus Dumbledore. I've even seen him do that shimmery thing you were doing, actually. Do you have any idea what you just did?" James was beginning to get excited.

"No, not really."

"You just changed the nature of the magic! You manipulated the amoxylla with your mind! That's incredible! We might've just saved an entire day of work!" James jumped to his feet. "Do you think you could do it again?"

Harry was taken aback. "I suppose…"

"James!" cried Lily, aghast. "A moment ago it was you talking about how dangerous that was! All that about watching him grow and losing the dream."

"But he was actually in control of it, Lily! If he could control that, which was about as feral as magic gets, than don't you agree he should be able to do the same with the _Avada Kedavra_? He can get in its head, so to speak!" He grabbed Lily around the waist and swung her in a circle. "This is tremendous! I was worried about the time constraints for a while, but now I really think we might be able to do this!"

Lily relented and laughed along with him as he swung her around. As they gradually stopped she grabbed his face with both hands and planted a kiss on his lips. Harry blushed and turned away, at long last understanding why children protested so much when they witnessed the manifestation of their parents' affection. It was just odd, really. Harry cleared his throat, trying to regain their attention without actually looking at them, and scratched his nose.

"Now that we've got that all sorted out," he said, "we've still got the rest of the evening, don't we? It's only," he glanced at the clock, "7:10. Can we get anything else done tonight?"

"Why not?" cried James. "Let's cast an _Avada_ just to see if we can. Sort of a test flight, you know? And if it works, you can try and feel it out, just a little bit, not too much. We don't want you to overstress yourself or anything. But we could just try it and see what happens, yeah?"

Harry smiled. He was still feeling a little tired, but if he didn't actually try to connect with it, he thought he would be all right. "Sure, let's give it a go, then. Just don't expect too much. I'm pretty tired."

"Fantastic!" James looked as giddy as a small child with a large ice cream cone. "And if you get fatigued and want to stop, that's fine. But if we get the spell out, we can at least liquefy it and contain it, and then work with it in the other room."

_And I can work in here without being disturbed, _thought Lily to herself. "That sounds like a marvelous idea," she said out loud. "Why don't you focus on isolating it for tonight, and then we can get up early to really study it. I'll have to get up to check on my potions anyway, and Harry will have to mix up the remaining ingredients."

Harry grimaced. "Are you sure you can't do that yourself?" he asked her.

"Positive," she said. "I want to be with Prongslet-Harry, and I have other things to do."

"What things?" Harry asked.

"Best not to ask, I've realized," said James. "She's stubborn as a mule when she wants to be; she won't even tell me."

Lily glared at him and wheezed a grumpy "hee-haw" under her breath before sweeping out of the room to check the last potions.

James and Harry returned to the Dark room, which seemed to have expanded greatly with only the remains of the magical barrier floating in the middle of the space. James immediately began recasting the intricate web of spells that would hold the Killing Curse at bay, talking all the while. "I don't know how well I'll be able to cast it, honestly. I've never done it before. And whatever I do end up casting will be nowhere near as powerful as what Voldemort is going to throw at us, which is probably good." He stretched up to seal a spell to the ceiling. "Starting small is always better. If you can control this one easily, then we can try to get it more, umm, death-y tomorrow. Do you think you could do it without touching it?" He turned around. "I'd rather if you don't touch it."

"I don't think so." Harry shook his head. "It wasn't until I touched the other one that I was really able to connect with it. I'll have to be touching it. But," he suddenly looked thoughtful, and started searching the floor. He found what he was looking for in the corner and turned to show his father the pair of thin gloves he had been wearing earlier. "They're molded to my hands, and let me feel things the way I would with bare skin, but they stabilize me and give me some protection. I'll bet I could do it both-handed if I wore these."

James took the silky garments and pulled one on. He whistled. "I can barely even tell they're there." He took out his wand and cast a simple stunner on the far wall. "Whoa, that was strong," he said. "You call that stabilizing? That felt like the glove practically cast the spell for me."

"In a way, it might have."

"What do you mean?"

Harry took the glove back and slid it onto his own hand, clenching and unclenching his fist as the cloth settled. "They guide magic, sort of find it and draw it out based on the caster's intent. For most people it ends up in more powerful spells than they're used to."

"Most people, but not you?" James guessed.

Harry shook his head. "Not me." He picked at the end of his thumb where a bit of the fabric had gotten folded under itself. "Are you done with the spell-space?"

James returned to the barrier, weaving spells together into a shimmering wall. "What do they do for you?" he asked, nodding at the gloves.

Harry hesitated. "Stability, mostly," he said. "I don't really know what would happen if I tried to cast in them. Mostly I use them for potions, because my hands shake."

"Why? I mean, why do they shake?"

Harry didn't answer but continued to pick at his glove. Then he sighed. "It's too much to tell right now. I'll tell you the whole story when you wake up, but right now it would just be a distraction. And distractions aren't good, especially with something like this going on."

James nodded. "Right then." He stepped back from the completed wall and breathed deeply. It only took a few seconds for him to stride forward, plunge his wand into the spell space and utter the curse. Harry winced at the sound, hoping he would never again have to hear his father say those words. _I'll just have to get it right this time, then,_ he said to himself.

The _Avada Kedavra_ seemed even angrier than the _Imperius_ at being trapped. It spat and snapped, hurling viny tendrils at the wall and whispering evilly at its captors. While the _Imperius_ had calmly urged Harry forward, this curse made his knees buckle in fear. The feelings burning into his mind from the writhing magic were vengeful and cruel, and he wanted to curl up and die right there, without it ever needing to touch him first. His father wasn't faring any better, shoving himself into a back corner of the room and covering his ears with his shaking hands. The spell seemed to leap gleefully about as the men cowered, pressing itself closer to the barrier, right up against it, spreading thin over the transparent wall and bending it out. If this was the weak version, Harry dreaded coming into contact with the strongest.

_But I already have,_ he thought. _When I was a baby. I faced him then, and I survived with just a scar and a shadow. I can do this._

He forced himself to his feet and walked resolutely towards the barrier. He could feel his father's eyes on him as he walked, but he knew already that James couldn't help him. Not with this. He held a gloved hand up parallel to the wall and watched as the _Avada Kedavra_ mimicked his gesture from the other side as the _Imperius_ had, only more eagerly. Much more eagerly. It was an octopus against the wall, suctioned and squirming, quivering with barely contained anticipation. The wall pushed out slightly towards Harry's hand, but he pulled back. Instinctively he knew that it had to be him to make the connection. It had to be his choice, his control. So he waited until the Killing Curse backed off to gather itself for a harder push, and while it was retreating, Harry pressed his hand flat against the barrier, colliding with the curse and causing a shiver to go through both of them.

The instant they made contact the curse roiled and burned blood-black, searing Harry's palm with heat and causing his glove to smoke. Harry felt the ripples move up his arm and into his mind, laughing and cheering its victory. He felt it swoop down his other arm, tingling in his fingers and reaching out for the wall, pushing for the connection. Harry held back. _My choice, not yours,_ he thought, and waited for the magic to recede before allowing his other hand make contact.

It was worse, far worse, than the battle with the _Imperius_. That spell had been strong, but smooth and flexible. The Killing Curse did not give an inch for all Harry's pushing, and he soon found himself tiring, even with the added support of his gloves. There was no weakness in this curse, no room even to shift his weight because any space he vacated would immediately be usurped by the curse. It whispered of hopelessness, and fatigue, and death, and Harry suddenly wished his father would grab him and pull him away. But that wouldn't work. James would only become part of the circuit. Harry started to panic. He shouldn't have tried this before he'd slept. He was too tired, and he was alone in the battle. There were no allies to help him here.

The curse sighed in pleasure as Harry slid down deeper into its embrace. At least, he thought it was a sigh. But it didn't stop. It became louder, and clearer, and Harry strained to hear it more closely. It was the sound of a rushing wind, or wings. It was a sound he'd heard before, in his nightmares and in front of him in his fourth year when Crouch was teaching. It was the sound of the curse moving in for the kill. He supposed it should make him afraid, or fight harder in fear, but it did neither. Instead he felt a sudden, fierce rage borne out of the memory of those he'd seen die, and the sudden awareness of his father's voice calling out to him from somewhere far off, and he threw up his mental defenses. The spell collided with them and he was nearly thrown off his feet, but he regained his balance and pushed. _No_, he said, _not this time_. He grasped the invader with new determination, and with an almighty shove that left him reeling and dizzy, he propelled the spell's presence away. It shrieked in fury and lashed back, but now it was desperate.

In his mind's eye, Harry saw what appeared to be a beating, decaying heart pulsing in the center of the spell, and he reached forward and crushed it with his hand. It burst, drenching him in a cold that ran through his veins and collected somewhere near his core. Then it vanished, and Harry was staring dazedly at the shimmering barrier, his father's astonished eyes, and a floating, fizzing puddle that was being dutifully dispensed into an expectant vial.

He looked at James with wide eyes, but James was staring at the remains of the spell, puffing out his cheeks and releasing the air in a gust.

"Well," he said. "Okay then."


	13. Chapter 10

A/N - A warm thank you to my faithful readers! I appreciate you so very incredibly much! I know it's been a (*cough VERY cough*) long time, and I could tell you why, but that would take even longer, and you don't want to hear it all anyway. But I'm back now. Can't promise quicker updates, much as I'd like to, but do rest assured that I'm still here. And you're all great!

A note, though. If you have questions for me, please actually leave a signed in review, or send me an email in a message, because if you're anonymous or aren't signed in, I have no way of responding to you! I got a fantastic review after the last chapter that asked some wonderful questions that I was all ready to dive into, but I couldn't click on the name. It made me very sad. I promise I won't stalk you or anything, but if you want me to answer, you have to give me a way to do it!

* * *

Previously in HPAA:

_In his mind's eye, Harry saw what appeared to be a beating, decaying heart pulsing in the center of the spell, and he reached forward and crushed it with his hand. It burst, drenching him in a cold that ran through his veins and collected somewhere near his core. Then it vanished, and Harry was staring dazedly at the shimmering barrier, his father's astonished eyes, and a floating, fizzing puddle that was being dutifully dispensed into an expectant vial._

_He looked at James with wide eyes, but James was staring at the remains of the spell, puffing out his cheeks and releasing the air in a gust._

_"Well," he said. "Okay then."_

_

* * *

Chapter 10 - The Turning Point  
_

Harry's head ached. No, that was the wrong word. It burned. It throbbed. It pulsed like an ocean tide crammed on fast-forward around his skull, beating down every physical and mental defense he had around his brain. It was exhausting. He desperately wanted to fall back asleep and let the pounding diminish to nothing, and he tried to relax and let himself sink into the darkness. But the pounding didn't let up. In fact, it got worse, and he realized with a groan that he was slowly floating closer and closer to the surface of consciousness, no matter how much he wanted to stay oblivious and empty.

Gradually he became aware of muffled sounds from somewhere nearby. Voices, most likely. Hushed but urgent, encouraging his mind to clear of the thick fog that was currently only adding to his discomfort. He stretched one hand out as best he could and felt smooth fabric under his fingers. So he wasn't on the floor. That was a good sign. Waking up on the floor almost never boded well. He curled his hand into what he was becoming more and more certain was the bedspread from his room in his parents' house. Then he felt another hand over his own, gripping his firmly, and he blinked, trying to bring the real world into focus.

"Come on, that's it. Take your time. Just open your eyes for me, baby."

_Baby?_ he wondered. Must be his mother. He couldn't imagine James ever calling him baby. He listened to the voice as it became more noticeably female, and did his best to obey. His eyelids felt like Velcro over his corneas, and he winced.

"James, get some eye drops or something."

"What's wrong with magic?"

"Eyes are delicate things. I'm not having you poke at them with your wand."

"Suit yourself."

The sound of footsteps echoed out into the hallway and then back a moment later, and soon he felt a blessed coolness flow over his eyes, and he sighed.

"Okay, try again."

It took several minutes for him to open his eyes, sit up, and drink some water. He felt strangely weak, and his head just _hurt_. He vaguely remembered the spell-space in the basement, fighting the _Avada Kedavra_ and crushing it into liquid, and then there was a ringing sound and a feeling of detachment, and a sharp pain on the side of his head. _I must have passed out_, he thought.

"How long have I been out?" he asked at last.

"It's almost 6:00 am. You slept all night," James replied, concern evident in his voice. "I guess it just knocked you out. It was too much at once."

"You think?" Lily said acerbically, and placed a wet cloth over Harry's neck.

James looked a bit chagrined. "Yeah. Umm, sorry. Really. I shouldn't have pushed. Lily was right, you should have rested after the first one."

Harry sighed. "Maybe." He rubbed a hand over his eyes and forehead, processing the time he'd lost. "That's a long time without work."

"Without? What do you think we've been doing, hovering over you like an invalid?" asked Lily.

"Umm… yes?" Harry questioned. "I mean, it's what I would have done."

"Well there's two of us," said James, "so we took shifts at first, but it was pretty clear within an hour that you just needed to sleep it off. We left some alarms around so we'd be notified if your condition changed, but we took care of ourselves too. Lily is almost completely done with the potions, and I have the AK all bottled up and ready for use. And we both slept, too."

"Wow." Harry blinked a few times. "That's… I dunno. I mean, I guess I didn't really know what to expect, but," he shrugged.

"You were worried we'd let our emotions get in the way and distract us," said Lily, "and under normal circumstances, you'd be right, but we're well aware of the time constraints." She stroked his hair back from his forehead and placed her hand on his shoulder. "There's really nothing particularly normal about what's going on here."

Harry huffed quietly. "That's an understatement." Then he frowned. "Where's Prongslet?"

"In his playpen downstairs," James answered with a smirk. "He's fine. He's got blocks."

Harry's fatigue lingered throughout the day, and several times he found himself nodding off while reading. Once he woke on the couch with a fluffy blanket draped over him and the sounds of clinking bottles and baby laughter in the next room. It was so comfortable, so familial and _normal_ that he was tempted to just lay there and enjoy it, but it was afternoon by then, the 30th of October, and he couldn't afford that kind of leisure. Still, he was touched by the fact that his parents hadn't woken him. It was nice to be cared about. For the first time in a long time, Harry felt a rush of cool jealousy towards his best friend and the warm, happy household he'd grown up in.

He slipped past the kitchen without being seen and headed through the study into the basement. The row of potions vials was as long as it was ever going to be. Some of the glasses were frosted over with freezing spells, one was bubbling with heat, and they all had labels and markers indicating their current state. Harry was fairly confident they would all do what they were supposed to do, he just didn't know if it would be enough. And he wouldn't know until it was too late to try and fix anything. It was a sobering thought.

The last and largest vial was only partially full. The liquid in the bottom had congealed and looked disturbingly like a mass of dried blood. Somehow, if it actually had been a mass of dried blood, it would have been easier to look at, but knowing it was a pure and unadulterated form of the very curse that had destroyed his hope for the sort of joyful life most people take for granted, he could barely keep himself from gagging. Of course it would look like this. It would have been too much to hope that it would just look and smell like peppermint tea. Harry looked at the little dial on the front of the bottle that was chiming at him that it was time to add a drop of bee balm nectar. He picked up the little eyedropper next to the bottle and carefully dripped a single drop through the cheesecloth covering the lip of the vial.

"I was just coming in to do that," said James, coming up behind his son. "Welcome back to the world of the wakeful."

"You shouldn't have let me sleep so long," Harry said softly.

"Pah, that's a load of dragon dung, and you know it. Until tomorrow, there's not much more to do with these than come in here and stir now and then, which we don't need three people for."

Harry placed the vial back on the shelf with a soft clink. He bit his lip and turned around.

"Dad," he started, " are you scared?"

"Bleeding terrified," said James, eying his son carefully.

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Me too."

The following moments of silence were interrupted by the sound of the floo upstairs coming to life and the sound of Sirius shouting "Prongs? James! Where are you?"

The Potters shared a confused look, and James turned and hurried back up the stairs. Harry followed carefully, leaving enough distance to be completely out of sight but staying close enough to hear what was going on. They were so close to D-Day at this point that any interaction, however small, could be extremely significant to how this all went down.

It sounded like Sirius had burst out of the floo and torn through the whole downstairs before he nearly collided with James in the study, and he was there now, embracing his friend like there was no tomorrow - which, Harry thought to himself dryly, was almost true. Through a crack in the bookshelf, Harry could see Lily come rushing in behind Sirius, her face white and her baby clasped in her arms. Even Prongslet seemed to realize that there was something wrong, if the slight quiver in his lower lip was anything to go by. Harry pressed himself against the wall and listened.

"Um, Sirius, you're sort of strangling me here," came James' strained voice from somewhere in the vicinity of Sirius's shoulder.

"Sirius, what's going on?" asked Lily quietly. "Has something happened?"

Sirius pulled back and held James at arms' length, regarding him intensely. "You're okay?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. Sirius, we've been over this. You don't need to worry about us."

Sirius swore colorfully and gripped James' shoulders tightly. "Worry? I've been trying to contact you. Hell, we've _all_ been trying to reach you. Floo, patronus, owl post. Remus even tried to use the phone! You've been silent for almost 24 hours…"

"We've been out of communication for longer than that before. I don't understand-"

"Things are heating up out there, or haven't you been reading the _Prophet_?"

"No, we haven't. We've been busy. Sirius, what's going on?"

"Death Eaters, Prongs. Everywhere." Sirius gripped his hair and closed his eyes for a moment, calming his breathing. "We've lost a lot of good people in less than a day. They keep showing up in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, we've even seen them as far out as Ottery St. Catchpole, just storming around and lighting things on fire, torturing people. They're feeling really good about something, and whatever it is, it can't be good for us."

"So, when we didn't answer, you thought-"

"We thought maybe they'd finally gotten to you. And the floo network is going nuts right now; they've found a way to track even the most shielded paths. It took hours just to get the connection secure enough for me to come through. It's a _madhouse,_ James. I don't know how much longer the wards around Godric's Hollow are going to hold up, but we can't spend too much time protecting them, or they'll figure out this place is special. Right now I think they're just causing as much damage as possible without any real direction."

Harry scrunched his eyes shut against the tears he could feel prickling at his lids. He wasn't sure what Voldemort had going on - it was too soon for Peter to have spilled the beans, Sirius was still secret-keeper - but he must have had some idea that he was getting closer. Or maybe he was trying to set up a distraction. Who knew? What mattered was that people were dying in this timeline, just like they were in his own, and he was just as helpless to stop it.

"We'll stay inside, then," said James, sounding considerably calmer than he probably felt. "Our wards will hold up. And we have the emergency portkeys to Hogwarts if we need them."

Sirius nodded. Then he seemed to steel himself, and faced James again. "So, you're sure you're all right?"

"Yes."

"Good," and he swept a hand over his face, "because I don't think I am."

Harry's eyes shot open and the tension in the study noticeably increased.

"What?" James' voice was dangerously low.

"I think he's on to me, James. I think he found out, and that's why they're celebrating."

"No," Lily gasped, sinking down into a chair and gently shushing her son, who had started to whimper.

"Why?" asked James, his voice still level.

Sirius sighed. "Since I went out yesterday to see Peter, I've felt… I don't know, just uneasy. Watched, I guess. Like someone was following me around rubbing his hands and just waiting for me to give something away. Made my hair stand on end all day, and you not answering really didn't help." He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "I think we should switch."

"Switch?"

"Secret-Keeper. I'm not safe anymore. If they take me, and torture me - oh, you know they will, Lily - I just don't know if I could hold out against that, you know?"

"Sirius, they won't," began Lily.

"They might, and I'm willing to bet they will, if they get the chance. They're not stupid, much as we'd love to believe that. I grew up with these people. They'll stop at nothing if he gives them an order."

"Let me finish," snapped Lily. " They won't follow Remus any less than you. He's too well-known."

"And I'm not? I'm his best friend. But, no offense to Remus, but with all the rumors flying around-"

"Sirius, you can't possibly believe Remus is the spy!" Lily cried.

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "No, I don't. But then, we never expected Rookwood or Avery to turn on us. They were two of our greatest allies, and now…" he gestured vaguely in the air. "I just don't think we should risk it. And, like you said, he's too obvious."

"Then who did you have in mind?" asked James.

"Well, don't say anything just yet, but," Sirius took another deep breath. "I think you should go with Peter."

Dead silence. Harry shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from screaming something he'd regret.

"Peter?" said James incredulously.

"Just think about it for a second," Sirius pleaded.

"I _am_ thinking. He's, well, not the sharpest quill in the quiver, shall we say."

"Exactly! Who in their right mind would ever think we would be stupid enough to pick roly-poly Peter? He's invisible James. Nobody knows or cares who he is, and those who do just ignore him. He keeps out of sight, he can escape in the blink of an eye, and he's loyal. Give him an opportunity to do something big, something really important, and he'll do it. He's perfect, James!" Sirius looked hopefully from face to face while Harry wondered if his godfather realized he'd just described all the reasons Peter made the perfect Death Eater. "No one would ever suspect him. James?"

James furrowed his brow. Lily bit her lips. Sirius stood motionless. Harry clenched his fists and slid down the wall. After an interminable pause, James spoke. "He has a point."

"James, I don't know."

"We can't keep endangering Sirius, and we already decided we can't pick Remus."

"But, what about Frank?" Lily suggested, but there wasn't much conviction in her tone. She was already yielding.

"You should already know the answer to that, Lils. Frank has enough on his plate protecting his own family. I'm not putting the Longbottoms in jeopardy like that."

Lily deflated. Of course, this was Alice and Neville, her surrogate sister and nephew. She couldn't endanger them like that.

James took her defeated gesture as an answer and turned to Sirius again. "Peter it is," he said lightly.

Sirius nodded. "I'll set that up right away. Keep your floo connection closed for a while so they can't hack into it. I'll send you a patronus when we're ready." In another minute he was gone.

Lily crumpled to the floor with Prongslet squirming against the tightness of her hold on him. "James," she whispered. Her husband was immediately by her side, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Hold on, Lils," he murmured. "We'll make it. This is going to work."

The small family was pulled from their thoughts by what sounded like a strangled sob from behind the bookshelf. James leapt to his feet and pushed the door open and saw his older son crouched on the stairs with one hand covering his mouth to stifle the catharsis that was shaking his thin shoulders. Without a word, James gathered the boy into his arms and held him silently, just letting him cry.

"It's Peter, isn't it?" he said at last. Harry nodded and banged his fist on the wall. "And I don't suppose we could back out of this agreement."

"No, it would change everything," Harry said, and looked up at his father's pain-filled eyes. "Don't blame Sirius, Dad. I can see why he did what he did. It all makes so much sense if you don't already know." Harry snorted humorlessly. "But he was right, you know? Nobody would ever suspect Peter."

While James and Lily were gone, transferring the care of their lives over to the least trustworthy person they knew, Harry attacked the last potion with a vengeance. With less than a day to go until everything needed to be ready, the fact that they had liquefied the spell didn't seem like such a victory, considering they still couldn't actually block the thing. James had cast the killing curse a second time earlier in the day, and it was still hissing and spitting behind the barrier, but Harry didn't dare just waltz in and mess with it when his emotions were so unstable. He couldn't stop shaking, and no matter how many times he wiped his eyes, there always seemed to be another tear there. They just dripped. He wasn't crying - no heaves, no sobs or shudders - the tears were just squeezing themselves out in one continuous stream.

It had been an hour since his parents had gone, and in all that time the spell in the Dark room hadn't let up on its furious onslaught of the barrier. The noise wasn't terribly loud, but it was invasive, and to Harry's already aching head, it felt like someone was laying in on him with a sledgehammer. He could feel his nerves giving way, and finally he threw a glass stirring rod to the floor and stalked down the hall to confront the damned thing. It wouldn't accomplish anything useful, but there was a slight chance that he might feel better afterwards.

He threw the door open and stormed in, coming almost up to the barrier before he even felt the spell grasping at him. He didn't even try to stop the tears. Crying was therapeutic, and if he could get it out of his system now, then by the time his family returned, he'd be able to jump back into the work, and offer comfort over their self-betrayal with Peter. He stood in front of the barrier and squinted until he could almost imagine a pair of eyes in the center of the spell staring back at him. There, he had a target at which to direct his anger. And it was anger, he realized, but it was also more than that. It was everything at once, and it was all the fault of this mass of glowing silly string.

"Shut up!" he yelled. "Just shut UP! You're nothing, you hear me? You're nothing special! You're just energy. No life, no worth, nothing. You're nothing at all!" It wasn't strictly true, but then it seemed to be an uncontested law of the universe that words spewed through heightened emotions were prone to exaggeration and falsification, as well as complete honesty. One of the many strange dichotomies of life.

"Don't you realize how pathetic you are? I beat you. I beat you when I was a baby, before I even really knew what magic was. And you think you can just come in here and take everything away from me, again. It's not going to happen, you hear me? Not this time, not ever again. I have seen too many people fall because of you. And I'm so close, I am so damn close, and you are not getting the best of me!" He almost laughed when he realized he was shaking his fist at the spell, which seemed to have quieted a bit during his diatribe. If he noticed the change, it didn't show.

"You're going to kill them, and I won't let you. I'll do it, I'll fix it, I'll make this work. I'll, I'll die first! You hear me? I will _die_ if I have to. I will _die_ for them, just like they did for me, if I have to, because that's what stopped you before. But one way or another, you will not take them away from me. I love them! You hear me, you dragon-humping dung heap? _I love them!_" And he threw his fist forward with all the force he could muster, not caring that the barrier wasn't solid, that there wasn't anything to actually hit on the other side. He just let fly, driving his knuckles forward with every single particle of righteous fury he had in him - and hit something. Just for a second, not even solid, more a whisper of something over his skin, but it was resistance, and he felt it, and the second his fist was through the barrier, the spell recoiled a few inches. But it hurt, like an electric shock, and he pulled back, holding his fist in astonishment, looking at the barrier, which had reformed flawlessly, and the spell which was back to spitting and howling as it had been moments before. But there had been a change. He had sensed it.

"What just happened?" he whispered. Then he looked down at his fingers, still tingling from the punch, and his eyes widened. He held up his hand, turning it forwards and backwards and looking at it from all angles. "I don't believe it," he said, and for the first time in days his eyes lit up with new hope. He ran from the Dark room and pounded up the stairs two at a time, flying through the bookshelf in the study and skidding to a stop in front of the living room. James and Lily, who had only moments before come back through the floo, looked up in surprise at his sudden appearance, Lily flinging a hand over Prongslet's face before he could see his older self.

"Harry," James sputtered. "What in Merlin's name is up with you?"

"I've done it," Harry panted, a smile nearly splitting his face open. "I know how to beat the _Avada Kedavra_."


	14. UPDATE and Letter to Reviewers

Hello, dear and faithful readers!

I know, I know, this isn't a chapter, but it is the precursor to a chapter, I promise. (and there's a tidbit at the end!)

Here's the deal: I have NOT abandoned this story. I love it, I love where it's going, and I love working on it. I have been dealing with a lot of difficult things in the past year, some good, some decidedly not, and have been far away from fanfiction in general. However, I have pages upon pages of handwritten material, and have finally figured out the snag in the science that has been holding me back (after all, how can I write in a scientific approach to magic if I can't explain why it works that way? I know some of you would call me on that). The next chapter is partially written, as is the one after that. I am going to try and post them simultaneously, since the next one is probably going to be heavy on the magic explanations, which are important for the plot as a whole, and the other one will be more moving the story forward.

Thank you all so much for your patience and faithfulness. I can't tell you how blessed I am that so many of you have stuck with me all this time! I wish I had a way to send you all some fun little gift in the mail. Your reviews and support have helped me through a few hard times over the years.

So anyway, I'm attending a wedding today, and then it's back to the grindstone this week with a full time job, but the Harry-spiration centers of my brain are whirring, and I hope to have you a REAL update very soon. Until then, I give you the first small bit of the next chapter, to tide you over until I get the whole thing up…

Yours sincerely,

~ Minou

_Previously in HPAA:_

"_I've done it," Harry panted, a smile nearly splitting his face open. "I know how to beat the Avada Kedavra."_

_Chapter 11 - Fruition_

James stared at his son in shock, observing the boy's flushed face, shaking hands, and almost fevered eyes. There was a determined, joyful, fierceness in his appearance that James had never seen before, not in this version of Harry. For the last week, his son had been brooding and dark, smiling when jocularity required it of him, encouraging when his family was downcast, and always strong and resilient while simultaneously vulnerable and exceedingly breakable. Now, finally, James was beginning to see what he believed was a more truthful version of the boy - no, the man - that shared his name and face. For a moment, James didn't even care what Harry had discovered, just so long as whatever it was kept him looking like this forever. He looked like his mother right now, all fire and love and energy, and it took his breath away.

Harry didn't seem to need a response to his declaration. He just ploughed forward. "It's ridiculous, and stupid, and so fantastically, unbelievably clichéd that I never would have believed it could be so simple if I hadn't seen it myself."

Lily had excused herself from the room momentarily to put Prongslet in his playpen, safely out of sight, but she had still been in earshot herself. She came back into the room with hope written all over her face. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's love, just like we'd theorized, but it's more than that. It's not just love, it's… well, here. Look!" Harry rushed forwards and thrust his fist into his mother's face, displaying his knuckles.

Lily gently took the proffered hand, and squinted for a moment. "Did you burn yourself?" she said. And then recognition flashed across her fingers. "But that's like-" and she pointed tentatively towards Harry's forehead. Harry nodded.

"What?" asked James impatiently, and grasped his son's hand, examining it closely. There, between the third and fourth knuckles was a tiny, almost imperceptible mark, singed under the surface of the skin: three small spider-thin lines forming a perfect, delicate lightning bolt.

_To Be Continued…_


	15. Chapter 11

_Chapter 11 - Fruition_

James stared at his son in shock, observing the boy's flushed face, shaking hands, and almost fevered eyes. There was a determined, joyful, fierceness in his appearance that James had never seen before, not in this version of Harry. For the last week, his son had been brooding and dark, smiling when jocularity required it of him, encouraging when his family was downcast, and always strong and resilient while simultaneously vulnerable and exceedingly breakable. Now, finally, James was beginning to see what he believed was a more truthful version of the boy - no, the man - that shared his name and face. For a moment, James didn't even care what Harry had discovered, just so long as whatever it was kept him looking like this forever. He looked like his mother right now, all fire and love and energy, and it took his breath away.

Harry didn't seem to need a response to his declaration. He just ploughed forward. "It's ridiculous, and stupid, and so fantastically, unbelievably clichéd that I never would have believed it could be so simple if I hadn't seen it myself."

Lily had excused herself from the room momentarily to put Prongslet in his playpen, safely out of sight, but she had still been in earshot herself. She came back into the room with hope written all over her face. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's love, just like we'd theorized, but it's more than that. It's not just love, it's… well, here. Look!" Harry rushed forwards and thrust his fist into his mother's face, displaying his knuckles.

Lily gently took the proffered hand, and squinted for a moment. "Did you burn yourself?" she said. And then recognition flashed across her fingers. "But that's like-" and she pointed tentatively towards Harry's forehead. Harry nodded.

"What?" asked James impatiently, and grasped his son's hand, examining it closely. There, between the third and fourth knuckles was a tiny, almost imperceptible mark, singed under the surface of the skin: three small spider-thin lines forming a perfect, delicate lightning bolt. James stared at it incredulously for a moment, then turned sternly to his son. "Did you go against the _Avada Kedavra_ while you were completely alone in the house? Seriously? How thick can you be?"

Harry, somewhat miffed, replied, "That's not the point. The time for caution passed quite a while ago, you know."

"You could have died."

"But I didn't."

James studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Point taken, I suppose. But still, why did you do that?"

"Because I was having anger issues," said Harry, "and I just punched it."

James blinked. "You punched it. You _punched _the Killing Curse. With your bare hand."

Lily, who had been silent this whole time, suddenly spoke up with a hint of a smirk. "Well, he _is_ your son."

James looked like he was about to respond to that, but a change in the feel of the scar under his thumb made him look down. "It's disappearing," he said. And it was. What had already been a very faint line was soaking slowly into Harry's hand, leaving the skin unblemished in its place.

"I guess punching a curse doesn't have the same effect as being hit _by_ one," said Harry, as the last traces of the lightning bolt melted away. "This didn't even last five whole minutes."

"Speaking of which," said Lily, stepping forward and turning Harry's chin towards her, "you said you'd figured it out. We weren't entirely listening yet, I don't think, what with Peter, and, well, I just realized that's what you said a minute ago."

"Yes, that's right!" cried James. "So, you got it, then? The secret? Is there time to do it?" His eyes were wide and hopeful, but with suppressed fear burning within.

Harry rubbed his eyes with his palm. "Yes and no," he said. "The premise is simple. But the reason it works, the way it happens, that's what's complicated, and I'm still not entirely sure I have it all worked out, but I know enough to make this work, I think."

The family trouped back down the stairs into the basement where the curse was once again spitting inside its cage. Harry led his parents into the Thinking room and swept a few scrolls of the table, searching for a piece of blank parchment and a quill. Having found the items in question, he pulled up a chair backwards and crouched on it, leaning over its back to reach the table. He rubbed his hair frenetically for a moment or two before seeming to come to a conclusion and beginning to speak.

"Okay, um, I guess the best way to start is to say things that we all already know, so, well, here." Harry scratched the number 1 on the top of the page and wrote: _Amoxylla make up all magic. Amoxylla can be manipulated, therefore magic can be manipulated. The AK is magic, therefore it can be manipulated. _"This is the principle we've been following this whole time, that it is actually possible to mess with the Killing Curse. Right?" James and Lily nodded. "Okay, second point, all magic is controlled by intent, which is where the ideas of passive and active magic come from."

"Whoa, wait a second, back up. Passive and active magic? I was never clear on those." James interrupted.

Lily looked at her husband incredulously. "Honestly, how did you even graduate? The difference between passive and active magic and the practical uses for each is one of the core concepts of magical study."

James didn't even look slightly abashed. "I didn't pay attention to all that stuff. I just messed around in school."

"But all this research you do, you have to understand a little bit. It's vital for potions-"

"Aha! Well there we go then. I didn't take potions after fourth year, and I barely passed before that. If it was important to potions, you can pretty much bet I ignored it." James leaned back until his chair stood on two legs and folded his hands behind his head, looking oddly proud of himself. Lily looked like she had just swallowed a bezoar.

"So I'm assuming I need to give you a dumbed down explanation before we can move on?" asked Lily.

"Indeed," answered James. "I'm listening this time around."

Lily mumbled something inaudible. "Right. It's a fairly simple concept, really. Magic is controlled primarily by the caster's intent. This is why a spell cast in battle is often more potent than one cast during a drill in class. The magic is influenced by the caster's focus and frame of mind. In class, you could cast a stunning spell, fully intending to knock out your opponent, but with no further motivation than completing the assignment. In a battle, where there is more riding on the outcome, the caster's intent is more focused, more strong, and more centered. The magic cast through a wand is considered _active_ magic for this reason. It is acting on the caster's will. Is this clear to you?"

James looked a little glazed, his mouth parted the smallest amount, but his brow was furrowed with concentration. "Spells are controlled actively by the caster, hence the name. Got it."

"Right." Lily looked a little proud, but whether it was of her own abilities to explain or James' ability to understand, Harry couldn't be sure. "Passive magic has a set, unchangeable value. Potions are passive. The potion maker can construct a desired effect using spellwork and specific ingredients, but he cannot control the potion itself once it has been completed. The potion will react exactly the same way in a test or in a real situation. A potion maker can create a potion with intent, or encase a spell inside an envelope, but has no direct control over the outcome."

"Passive magic is where the caster is a bystander to their own creation. Active assumes direct involvement. Does that sound right?"

Lily kissed his cheek. "Yes, that's actually a very good definition. Succinct and informative. Well done, James."

Harry cleared his throat. "The key of course is that intent and emotion are not the same thing. You can't save anybody by loving them anymore than you can kill anyone by hating them." He smiled a little. "I remember Dumbledore telling me in my first year that it is our choices that make us who we really are. I guess that applies to magic as well, that it is our intent that governs what we can and can't do, or will or won't do, with the power we have."

"So, we have 'magic can be manipulated' and 'magic is controlled by intent.' What's next?" said James, letting his chair legs fall back to the floor and leaning forward to inspect the parchment, where Harry had scrawled his second point below the first.

"It was intent that rebounded the curse, then, something active?" queried Lily.

Harry held up a finger. "Hang on, don't get ahead of me. I mean, yeah, yes that's true, but it's more complicated than that."

"But a potion is passive, and we've been trying to make a potion," Lily continued, looking doubtful.

"Hold on, wait for me." Harry scratched a 3 on the parchment and wrote in _'intent trumps passivity. A strong will, when put up against a potion with a similar starting value, will always win.' _"Basically if we just rely on a potion to work against Voldemort, it will almost certainly not be enough. His intent to kill, and to achieve immortality through killing, will just pulverize the passive magic in a preventative potion." He drew a tiny beaker on the parchment as he spoke, then a few squiggly lines coming towards it. Where the lines came in contact with the glass, he drew a long jagged crack, and then a steaming puddle around the bottom.

"Nice," James commented mildly with a raised eyebrow.

Harry grinned. "I'm not known for my artistic abilities, all right? It gets the point across."

"Does it?" said James, turning his head sideways and squinting. Lily choked back a laugh.

Harry continued, doing his best to ignore James' continued state of false confusion. "I went down into the basement while you two were gone because I was just furious, I mean, I was really really upset. I knew you were going to go switch to Peter, and I just, I couldn't stand it. I had to get that out somehow so my input would actually be worth a sickle when you got back. I knew I wouldn't be able to focus if I was still messed up inside. So I came down here and kinda," he shifted slightly in embarrassment, "yelled at it." There was a pause in which it seemed like someone might comment on that fact, but before that could happen, Harry ploughed ahead. "I started yelling about how much I hated the thing, how it had ruined everything, how it had stolen everything that mattered, my family, my chance for a normal life, some of my friends, the security of the people in my world, it had left everything jumbled and despairing. And you were out there right then making sure it would happen, and I was standing here trying to make sure that it actually didn't, and, I'm just rambling now, sorry."

He ran a shaking hand through his hair, breathing deeply. _I'm too strung out_, he thought. _I need to calm down. I can't let my emotions interfere with my planning. That's what the Professor said was one of my greatest failings. He said to let emotions influence and strengthen, but never interfere._ He sighed, thinking back over the events that had brought him here, and not for the first time wondered if it was a fool's errand. But no, it wasn't. That much he was confident of. Even if the plan itself didn't work out, this time was certainly not wasted. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

"Anyway, at the moment when I punched the spell, I wasn't thinking about the world, or my friends, or anything that had to do with the war. At that moment all I was thinking about was how badly, how desperately I wanted you both to live. How much I… loved you." He stumbled slightly, those words not feeling familiar in his mouth due to their infrequent usage. "I love you, and I want you to be alive. I need this to work, and not because of the war. And when I lashed out, it was with more, I guess, I was saying I was going to make it work, that I wasn't going to let the spell win, and I _believed_ it, and I meant it, and that's part of what made it back up for a second, and that's when I knew." He paused for a moment, sorting the thoughts out in his head to be sure he could relate them clearly. "I guess the point I'm trying to make is that the magic was secondary. I wasn't using any purposefully. Any magic that came out was instinctual, from my core. I didn't cast anything, or will any magic out from myself."

"Why not?" asked Lily, although she was beginning to guess. Harry had hung back from more difficult potion preparation, anything that involved a wand. He had worn gloves to protect his hands from certain ingredients and treated his wounds with linen and poultices instead of magic. She hadn't once seen him draw a wand, except when he gave it up at the door that first night. If he wanted something, he fetched it instead of summoning it. And there was always that feeling that he was hiding something from her, something that he didn't want to burden them with. In fact, now that she thought about it, in any occasion in which magic was required he had skillfully demurred the responsibility and let one of the other two handle it. The expression on his face now as he watched her think was enough to convince her that she was right.

"You don't have any magic," she whispered.

James' head shot up. "What? Of course he does!" And he looked at Harry, ready to confirm that his son was, in fact, completely capable of performing spells, but the words died on his lips. Harry was shaking his head sadly.

"No, I have it. I just don't have control over it anymore. I haven't for some time." He reached into a pocket and pulled out his pair of gloves and laid them on the table. "These were a gift from the Professor. He's been working with me through this whole project. He had these custom-made after he realized that I couldn't even stir a potion without accidentally upsetting the magical balance in it. My magic was wild, and would come out in spurts and never when I wanted it to. I ended up causing quite a bit of damage around his home and eventually made myself very sick. These gloves allow me to regain some control by suppressing the magic and keeping it from escaping through my fingers. My hands start shaking because magical energy builds up inside, and the gloves keep it from bursting out. They stabilize my core." He slipped one on and curled his fingers into a fist. "I told Dad earlier that they sort of guide and focus magic, and with most people they cause a spell to come out more powerfully than usual. For me, they allow me work with magical items. When I'm wearing these, I can perform simple magical tasks, like potion-making, and even some simple spells, if I've worked very hard on them. But most of the time it's easiest not to." He slipped the glove back off. "Prolonged use, especially when your core is unstable, can cause nerve damage. I'm already being exposed to enough magic just by being in such close contact with you and these potions and spells that it wouldn't be wise for me to also be using my wand."

"How did that happen?" asked James, quietly.

"I don't think it's a story that needs to be told right now."

"The hell it isn't."

"James," Lily touched her husband's shoulder. "Let's focus on what we're here for right now. There will be time for stories later, when this is all over, all right?"

James bit his lip and huffed, but nodded. "So you didn't face the spells with magic."

"Not intentionally. My magic was drawn into the battle with them and acted on its own, more or less. It's like, well, I didn't want to die and I didn't want the curse to break free, but there was nothing I could consciously _do_ about it. My core magic responded to my strong intent and acted on its own in accordance with what I was thinking."

"That's just bizarre. I mean, I know accidental magic happens, that's why kids blow things up. But I haven't really heard of it in adults."

"It's because adults have been trained to subconsciously control their magical core through years of conscious schooling. I've lost that. But maybe that's a good thing."

"What do you mean?" Lily spoke up. "I would think it would be better to be able to control your magic."

"In most cases, yes, but magic responds automatically to the caster's needs. So in this case, if someone were to cast a curse on me, my magic would flare up ready to be used in my defense. Magic responds to danger the same way adrenaline does. But when I was facing the _Avada Kedavra_, I wasn't focused on myself at all. My magic didn't automatically try to protect me, because I was thinking about protecting both of you."

Lily jumped in, having figured out where Harry was going with this thread. "In order for someone to be able to block this curse, they can't be thinking of themselves. They have to be focused on someone else, the person they want to save, but in the majority of cases, nobody's trying to save someone else when they're face to face with this curse. But when we save you, our purpose is to keep you alive, and that purpose has to be stronger than our innate response to protect ourselves, right?"

"Yes. There are more variables, of course. I'm sure other people have jumped in front of a curse to save someone in the past, but nobody has ever had their life spared the way I did, with the curse then rebounding. It's just never happened. I have no idea if it ever would, or even if this will work in the end." He bent his head and began to add another line to the previous three on his parchment.

Lily was frowning. "So, if it really was our intent to save you that rebounded the curse, I mean, we _had_ to die, then, didn't we? If we hadn't died, you would have. So if we live, then you'll die. This can't work."

Harry blew on the ink he'd just left behind on the parchment. "Hold on, I haven't finished." He tapped his quill on the parchment to draw attention to what he'd just finished writing.

_1. Amoxylla make up all magic. Amoxylla can be manipulated, therefore magic can be manipulated. The AK is magic, therefore it can be manipulated._

_2. Magic is controlled by intent - active vs. passive._

_3. Intent trumps passivity. A strong will, when put up against a potion with a similar starting value, will always win._

_4. The intent to die for someone out of love, followed by the actual act of death, creates an impassible barrier for the Killing Curse. It cannot circumvent the strongest possible human intent. There is no greater power than sacrificial love._

"There's more. Since the other day when I faced the _Avada Kedavra _for the first time, I've been wondering why I was able to do what I did. Why was I able to stand right there and fight with it in its raw form when Dad was barely able to be in the same room? And more than that, this whole time I kept feeling like there was something I was missing, something about how the spell felt to me, and I think I figured it out downstairs. I think it was trying to repel me, not suck me in."

"That's an awful big jump to make in interpretation," said James. "First you said it was attacking you, and now you're saying it wasn't?"

"I was being surrounded by this incredible force that hurt and scared me. Of course I assumed I was being attacked. But when I punched it downstairs, it backed off, just for a moment. When it was in me the first time, I felt all this pressure in my head, but it wasn't a pull, it was a push. Like the spell came in to attack me, and there was something about me that it couldn't get a grip on. And the spell itself felt weirdly familiar to me. It felt like my body and the spell were two magnets being pushed together by an outside force, and repelling each other from inside. The barrier in the middle kind of messed everything up, because it was exerting a third party into the equation that altered the outcome, but the long and short of it is, I think I've built up some kind of immunity. Nobody's ever survived the AK until me, so nobody knows what happens to someone after they've been hit by it. I believe some part of the spell stayed in me, and assimilated with the rest of my magical core. Like I've been inoculated."

"Is that even possible?" asked Lily.

"It is with other spells. You can learn to fight off the _Imperius_, and there have been reports of people who were exposed to uncontrolled bursts of magic, who were later unable to have their hair cut or their bones set with magic. It's been theorized that magic infiltrates cells, which I can believe more now after learning about amoxylla, so why not with the _Avada Kedavra _as well? It's just, nobody's survived to be tested before."

"So, you're saying that your magic can recognize this curse, and is what, getting better and better at pushing it away the more you come into contact with it? Like building up a tolerance?" asked James.

"That's it, yeah. This time, I created a tiny version of the shield that saved me when I was one by declaring my willingness to die for you guys if necessary. I wasn't actually _sacrificing_ myself, but it was enough to protect me from one tiny moment of contact. I barely felt the curse at all in my hand, even though I could still sense it in my mind. It was still there, it just wasn't hurting me."

"But still," put in Lily, "I'm not getting how this means we don't actually have to die."

"You need somebody to be willing to die for you, that's all. We need to create the same shield for you guys that you created for me. Somebody needs to face the curse for you."

"You're not doing that," said James bluntly. "You're not jumping out there and putting yourself in front of that curse. You'd die here."

"I'm not suggesting I jump in front of it," said Harry, "just that I be the one to fight it off. And that _can_ be done. There are all sorts of potions that link two people together so that whatever hits one ends up being transferred to the other."

"So, we make a potion that sends the curse from us to you, you fight it since you already can, and you've built up a tolerance from your own experience with it, and that saves us? How do we know it won't kill you, since you'll be taking in more than one casting of the curse?" said Lily. "Because if this ends up with you dying and us living, then I'm not doing it. I'm not letting you do that for us. It defeats the purpose."

"No, it doesn't, actually," said Harry. "I already knew that I might have to die. I came here prepared for that."

"You what?" James yelled. "You came out here on a possible suicide mission? And you just happened to fail to mention it?"

"If I'd mentioned it, you would have done what you're doing now, and nobody would have been focusing on the problem," said Harry calmly.

"No. No way. Not happening. If that's the only option, then I'm not taking it." James started to pace. "I can't, I just, I can't let my son sacrifice himself for me like that."

"You're going to do it for me."

"That's different! We're your parents! We're supposed to protect you no matter what. You are our child, dammit!"

"Yes, you're my parents! Do you really think that makes anything different?" Harry stood up and banged his fist on the tabletop, causing the quill to bounce to the floor. "Do you really think that a parent has more reason to sacrifice than a child? That I wouldn't be just as willing to die for you as you are for me? What makes you so special, that your love is better than mine? If I knew with absolute certainty that there was no other way to save you than for me to give myself up to the dementors or spend one hundred years as a werewolf's chew toy, I would do it. I'd do it even if that's all this was, just me trying to save you, but you're forgetting something else, Dad."

It was the use of the word "dad" that finally got James to sit down. "You're forgetting that I didn't come here to save you just so that we could have a happy family life in the future. In fact, it would have been stupid to take this much risk just for that, considering all the millions of tiny things that could go wrong and mess up the future forever." Harry sat down again and took a deep breath. "Do you remember what I told you a few days ago, about the war? If you don't come back and help, Voldemort lives forever without any opposition. Only you can stop this, Dad. Not me, not Mom, not Dumbledore or my friends, or the Professor. You. My job is to be able to bring you back. As long as I can succeed in that, the world has a chance. And if I die in the process, it's a good death, because I helped to bring about the downfall of the worst dark wizard of our time."

James let out his breath in a whoosh. "But, why me? I mean, what can I do that someone else can't?"

"Again, if I tried to explain that all right now, it would take too long. You just need to trust me on this, Dad. They need you there. Ideally, I would be there too, since I am the one in the prophecy, but you could do it. I'm not entirely necessary. Dad, I _need_ you to go back. I need you to save everyone, give the future its own future to look forward to. I don't want to die, and I want to see you both there and have a life with you, but I'm willing to let go of that. I've tried to make it a possibility, and it could still be one. We don't know for sure that I will die tomorrow."

"Harry, you'd be taking on that curse at full power twice over, fueled by Voldemort's intent. You've only been facing it in its raw form so far. This is going to be so much stronger. I don't see how you could survive it," said Lily.

"I wouldn't be taking on all of it at once," said Harry. "When I brought you both down here I hadn't actually figured everything out. I knew that I had to face the curse somehow, that a potion wouldn't work, and that I could very possibly die, but I didn't know how this would all go together into a plan. But I think I do now. Talking this all out and listening to what you guys were saying, I think I know."

Harry flattened out his parchment one more time running his hand over wrinkles that he'd inadvertently squeezed into being while he was yelling. "We have to be careful about what we're thinking and feeling at the time each of you gets hit with the curse. We all have to be really single-minded. Dad, you need to be focused entirely on Mom and Prongslet, willing to give your life. Will you be ready to die?"

"Weird question, but yeah. When this happens, I will absolutely do exactly what you say that I did before." He blinked. "I think that made sense."

"So, you've taken a potion that transfers the bulk of the spell to me. I will be entirely focused on being willing to die for you. That means there will be a shield created around you to block the spell. Some of the spell will be nullified by the shield, and I'll take the rest of it. Since I'm not actually dying, just fighting the spell, the shield won't be complete, I don't think. So, then the shield you created by your near-death will go on to protect Mom, who you were focusing on. Mom, you barricade the door and stall him as long as you can so I can get Dad's spell under control. When Voldemort casts on you, that one will also be transferred to me. Then I'll be fighting two of them."

"This is impossible," said James. "You really think this is going to work?"

"I don't know for sure that it won't, and that's the best we've got right now," Harry snapped impatiently. "So my shield protects Dad, and strengthens _his _shield which protects Mom, and then that shield is now going to be practically bursting with built up raw magical energy and love and sacrificial intent, and it'll be very unstable. When Voldemort casts at me, it will cause the spell to backfire off of the shield, and it will rebound and hit Voldemort, who can't die because of the horcruxes, and his soul will be blasted halfway to Albania."

"And then you'll die."

"Maybe. If the spell continues to work, then yes, I will. And this plan may end up being pointless. But, if it acts the way every other spell in the world works, then the moment its caster dies or becomes powerless, it will diminish. My guess is that as soon as Voldemort is struck, I'll be fine."

"But that's a big gamble."

"This is _all_ a big gamble. Has been from the start."

"Speaking of a gamble, how do you know the spell will actually hit Voldemort when it rebounds? Aside from the fact that in your past it did just that," put in Lily.

"Well, that part's easy," said James. "This spell is drawn towards life. If it can't hit Prongslet, and we're practically dead and Harry isn't even in the house, it's going to lash out towards the closest, most alive thing it can reach, which will be Voldemort. So I guess that means Lils has to make sure to, erm, fall far enough away from Prongslet that Voldemort has to pass by her."

"My head is spinning," said Lily, sitting down and rubbing her brow with her fingertips in small, continuous circles. "Can somebody just… break this down a little? What exactly are we doing, and what are the chances of it working? I can't make the decision here. I don't want any of this to happen, but it has to, so somebody just tell me what I need to do."

Harry rested a hip on the edge of the table. At the moment he was actually wishing for the same thing, a simplification and clarification of what had to be done, perhaps in a checklist so they could see how much there was left to do, and observe their progress. It had all seemed so much more straightforward when he had first realized that the key was the willingness to die. He curled his lips inward and gripped them with his teeth.

"Here, give me that," said James suddenly, taking the parchment and quill from Harry. "We've got these things written down, so let's just add to it. What's 5 going to be?"

And so the list grew. Underneath the first four statements Harry had written, the parchment now read _5. Sacrificial love, domino effect. H protects J protects L protects P. The intent of the AK is beaten by the shield we create. 6. Harry must contain the curse until Voldemort is rendered powerless. 7. Don't die._

The last one was added by James who, despite his outward display of bravado, was becoming more and more shaken the closer they came to a set plan. In all the Potters' minds it hadn't quite seemed real, perhaps, until now. They had only one day left. The potion required to transfer the curse from Lily and James to Harry would only take half of that time, if that, but then it would be a waiting game. There was no way of knowing if this would work or not, and the consequences if it should fail weighed heavily on all three minds.

Harry broke the tense silence with a light cough. "Erm, so I think we should probably get started on this potion, don't you think?" Lily curled her fists into her pant legs, and James attacked his hair with one hand while the other delved deep into a pocket. Harry just stood silently, watching his parents for reactions, for some sort of cue to get moving, but the stillness was so welcome, he didn't want to make the first move himself. In the end, it was an absurdly loud crack from the spell in the next room that shook the three Potters out of their stupor and into action. There was no time to waste.


	16. Chapter 12

AN: Hello, faithful readers! Happy New Year! May 2012 be full and prosperous, and absolutely chock full of chapters from this story (I hope).

* * *

_Chapter 12 – 31 October, 1981_

It was already getting later in the evening, and after a few hours of intense work and thinking it was decided that in order to function well enough the following day, all three of the Potters needed to eat and rest. Dinner was simple; it was made up of whatever could be scrounged out of the cupboards and didn't require much work; namely, leftover rice and cold cereal, steamed vegetables and the remainder of a pint of ice cream from the back of the freezer. The meal was taken care of in silence, and finally Lily was the only one still with a dish in her hand, carefully scraping up the last of the ice cream with her finger. James watched her with a pained expression on his face. Harry wondered what he was thinking, but didn't bother asking. He could probably guess well enough as it was.

When Lily's shoulders began to quiver and James walked over and began speaking softly to her, Harry left the room. It didn't feel like this was a moment he should intrude on. It was unsettling to think that the next twenty-four hours could be the last any of them had to live. Harry had contemplated his own death many times in his life, simply because of the nature of the life he'd lived. He knew that his parents also had faced death many times. The prophecy had said so, and he'd confirmed it himself while being here and talking to them. It was a dangerous world they lived in, and death was just another one of those things that happened to people. It was terrible and tragic, of course, but never really unexpected.

But this, this felt different. He wasn't walking around in a state of constant hyper-awareness, wondering when there might be an enemy around the next corner. This was planned, and was going to be executed within a determined time frame. Somehow, this calmed him. If he died, at least he knew that it was in the pursuit of peace and unity in the Wizarding world, that he had been a part of a great cause and left behind a legacy of some kind. He frowned. The last part was not necessarily accurate. True, he was famous, he had a prophecy to his name, and he had done many impressive things, but he hadn't managed to do the one thing that everyone believed he could. So the legacy would only be one of failure.

He laughed softly to himself at that thought. The Professor had several times caught him out with that sort of thinking. _"Is that how you want to be remembered?"_ he'd ask. _"As a failure? Is that what you actually believe you are? Then you're even more stupid than I thought you were. Let me tell you something, you insect," _the old man's eyes gleamed with conviction as he spoke, _"A failure does not cause an entire country to keep hope alive just by existing somewhere in their minds. A failure doesn't study hard and work his fingers to the bone without magic in order to do the impossible. A failure doesn't spend two days crawling on his hands and knees through the snow, bleeding, without a direction, because he just refuses to die yet. A failure would look at you, and be ashamed of himself, and shape up just so he could one day be able to look you in the eye without flinching." _Harry smiled and leaned back against a wall, picturing the deep gray and white streaks in the man's braided beard, his piercing eyes, and the way he'd curl his gnarled, arthritic fingers around the head of his cane until his fingertips turned white. _"You are a cockroach, Harry Potter. You have been crushed again and again, beaten down, tortured, maimed, scarred, heartbroken, betrayed, and deceived, and you JUST. WON'T. DIE. If this world was filled with impossible, pigheaded bugs like you…"_

"…Then we might actually stand half a chance in this war," Harry whispered.

* * *

Harry steered clear of his parents for much of the rest of the evening. It was clear that they needed some time together to talk and work things out. They spent over an hour just sitting together next to Prongslet's cot, hands linked and eyes wet, before finally going to bed. Harry took the opportunity to pilfer a few photo albums, odds and ends that looked like they had some personal meaning, and a stack of letters he found in a roll-top desk in the hallway. He placed them all carefully inside the small pouch he carried in his pocket which was enchanted to hold an incredible number of things, and periodically reached his hand inside to touch the objects, as if to reassure himself that they were in fact real.

The house was eerily quiet when he was pacing it by himself. He decided quickly that he didn't enjoy the feeling, and crept upstairs to his room, where he sat and pondered for some time before drifting off. He had already located Hedwig, who had been keeping watch over her master from various high perches in the house, and requested that she wake him up at sunrise. Somehow, he was able to sleep the night through, and when he woke to Hedwig's soft rustling and hooting next to his ear, he felt remarkably collected.

It only took until just after noon to finalize the remaining potions and plans. With no talking except for what related to the task at hand, the time and work passed quickly. Lily excused herself through much of it to spend as much time with her baby as possible, and sometimes James would take her place, spending an hour tossing the child in the air, blowing multicolored bubbles with his wand, and causing young Harry to laugh as long and hard and as many things as possible. He was very spoiled that day. Nothing he did was scolded; everything was met with smiles and hugs.

At last, everything was ready. Harry had bolstered his own defenses with every nutritional and energizing potion Lily had in her arsenal, James and Lily had both spelled their own funeral attire to make sure it would remain intact for the next fifteen years, all the necessary potions were lined up in their little bottles on the kitchen counter, dutifully waiting to be measured and consumed, and every detail of the plan had been mapped out three times to ensure there would be no missteps. They were as ready as they could possibly be. Except, perhaps, Lily, who insisted on continuing to list ingredients in a nervous fashion well after they had already been memorized by all present.

"I've added bee balm and asphodel to mimic hibernation so we'll sleep until you come in the future to wake us up," she said.

"Got it, yes."

"We need to drink this no more than an hour before the attack to make sure it's at full potency at the moment of impact…"

"Yes, Lily, we have it."

"Harry, you need to wait out of sight. Once he's gone and before anyone else shows up, you need to find our bodies and give us each an injection of this serum, which will preserve our bodies. Ancient Egyptian wizards used a primitive version of this in mummification. It will keep us from ageing or growing or anything else. It should carry over to our clothing, along with the spells we cast earlier, but you may want to cast a _Vetements_ charm over the graves before you dig us up."

Harry tried his best to look as though he hadn't heard this a dozen times already. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll make sure you wake up decent." James choked back a laugh.

Lily took a deep breath. "Okay, I think that's it."

"Not quite," said James. "We don't actually know when we'll have to take these potions in order to make sure we're an hour ahead of the attack."

"That's where Hedwig comes in," said Harry. "She's following Peter, and she'll let me know when he's passed on the information. After she comes back, I'll leave, and you two just go about your usual nightly routine. But I know from history books and stories that it didn't happen until late in the evening, so we have some time."

"Well, that being said, we should start taking some of these now, so they don't hit our stomachs too harshly. I'd hate for us to get sick from taking them all at once," Lily said briskly, handing James a medium sized vial that was faintly steaming. He wrinkled his nose and downed it in a gulp.

"So," James said once he'd rinsed the foul taste from his mouth in the sink, "What happens when this is over?"

"I'll go back to my time and wake you up."

"Yes, I know that. I mean-"

"What if we don't wake?" Lily interrupted somberly.

"Then he gets a noseful," James said after a brief pause, trying unsuccessfully to restore some good humor to the conversation."

"Then I go through my life knowing that I had this time with my parents that I'd never had before, and I'll always be grateful for it. No matter what happens, I am glad I came."

Lily threw her arms around him and held him fast. "So am I. I am so glad I've been given the chance to see you as a young man, and let me tell you, Harry James Potter, I have never been more proud in my life than I am right now." She drew back and looked him over with tears shining in her eyes.

"She's right, you know," said James. "The things you've accomplished in the last few days are nothing less than remarkable. I wish I could've been around to watch you develop these skills." James embraced Harry warmly. "I love you, Harry."

Harry's eyes burned and he clutched his father to him tightly. After a few moments he pulled back and wiped his face with his sleeve. "What were you trying to ask earlier, Dad?"

"Oh, that," James thought for a moment, sniffing noticeably. "I wanted to know what will happen once we're in your time, if all this works out the way we're hoping it will."

"I… I don't have a perfect answer for that, Dad. I have plans and ideas, but honestly, I've been so caught up with this part of the plan, I've been putting off thinking about that part until we get there."

"That's fine. Just, promise me one last favor, then."

"Anything, Dad."

James's eyes darkened grimly. "If we make it through this alive, leave Peter to me."

* * *

Hedwig brought the warning at 9:30. Harry and his parents shared a last embrace before James and Lily quaffed the remainder of the potions they'd been working through all afternoon. They both looked a bit queasy, but Harry couldn't be sure if it was more from the mix of herbs and substances in their stomachs, or the certainty of their impending deaths. Harry pocketed the syringe and preservation serum and was about to head out the door when Lily placed a hand on his arm.

"Wait, Harry. I need to give you something." She reached into her robes and brought out three tiny vials and handed them to him. In answer to his questioning glance she said, "The blue one is the last dose of the serum you're using for us. The red one is a potion designed to keep you alert in a sudden change of environment – freezing to boiling, invisible to opaque, that sort of thing – and also to shield you from death. As in, death you're not supposed to have yet, if that makes sense. It's based on an old theoretical potion Professor Slughorn told me about when I was at school. There are two doses in there. The yellow one is a liquid form of a common sticking charm, strengthened by several drops of your blood that I got when you cut your finger the other day. Once activated by a strong enough stimuli, the drinker will stick fast to anything he grabs hold of, and it won't deactivate until it comes in contact with the person whose blood is in the potion. It only lasts for about five minutes after activating, but it should be enough."

"Enough for what?" asked Harry.

"For Sirius to grab something and hold on," said Lily.

"You mean…"

"Yes. I didn't forget about the veil. If you're right, and Sirius was hit by a stunner when he fell, then the red vial should keep him awake and unharmed, and the sticking charm will allow him to latch onto something, anything he can. The stunner is a strong enough spell, it should activate the potion quite nicely."

"And the blue one?"

"That's for you. My hope is that it will keep you impervious to the veil's pull just long enough for you to reach in and grab Sirius. If you also take the second dose of the red vial, then you should stay alert no matter what it feels like on the other side."

"But we don't even know what is on the other side," Harry said.

"We know enough. That veil has been there since the Ministry was built. It's a sort of impermeable gateway, and although nobody understands it entirely, it is believed that death is not the immediate consequence of passing through it. There have been many people over time who have claimed to hear voices calling them towards it, as though the souls or spirits of those who died there are enticing others to join them."

A memory stirred in Harry's mind. "I've heard them. I was in the ministry, the night Sirius died, and I heard those voices, and I felt like I was being pulled forward."

Lily's eyes widened. "You heard them? You must have had someone with you to pull you away."

"Yes, I did." Harry remembered Hermione's hand on his arm, and was suddenly extremely grateful that she had been there beside him that night.

"The thing is, the veil strips the soul from the body, similar to the way a dementor does, but it doesn't happen as quickly. The use of the veil was banned when it was determined that it was an inhumane method of execution, because of the horrific death it provided. People who pass through are irreversibly torn from themselves through fear and pain, and can never be recovered, which means they can't be resurrected or curse anyone from beyond death with residual spells left in their bodies. It was a very safe way to ensure that people wouldn't have the last laugh with their death. But you must be entirely beyond the veil in order for this separation to happen. As long as some part of you is on this side, in this world, you cannot lose your soul like that.

"So Harry, it is vital, absolutely vital, that you do not let yourself entirely pass through to the other side. I believe you should be able to pull Sirius back before he is lost forever. I wouldn't suggest this at all except that I know it has been successfully done once or twice in the past. But you MUST NOT pass through yourself, and you must get him out within ten minutes of him going through, or there will be no hope for him to heal. And if you believe once you're there that you cannot reliably keep yourself on this side, than it is better to not try it at all. Do you understand? If you go through too, then we've lost both of you, and that is not an option I am willing to consider."

Harry was speechless. "I… Mom, I…"

James cut him off. "You need to go. Now. You can't be here when he shows up. You can thank her in fifteen years. We need to go about our business."

"And Harry, I don't know that this will work. If you get partway in and you start to feel like you're unable to think, or something isn't working the way it should, get out. Get out immediately. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, still unable to verbalize a response, but it didn't matter. Lily understood. Mothers always do.

* * *

The hardest part was waiting without any contact. For all Harry knew, this could be the very last time he ever spoke to his parents. It could also be the last thing he himself ever did. As much as he'd assured his parents that he could take on three killing curses, he couldn't be sure that it was really within the realm of possibility, even with his current level of immunity. There were an incredible number of unknowns in this equation. Harry wondered, not for the first time, if it really would have been better to just try and animate and transfigure two tree branches or something, and have them stand in for his parents. But no. He knew that never would have passed muster. It had to be the real bodies. It was the only way. Of course, this meant it would be their real bodies he had to uncover in the rubble and inject a serum into, and he wasn't sure how he'd be able to handle that, but there wasn't really time to think about it. By the time he got there, he'd barely be able to move himself, and there would only be a minute or two for him to find them, do what he had to do, and get away before he was seen.

The hour passed in agonizing slowness. Harry was well hidden at the edge of the woods and could just make out the shadowy figures moving around behind the window shades. He glanced down at his watch. 10:20. Any minute now. Inside the house, Pronsglet gave a little shriek of laughter.

The first indication that something was amiss was the feeling of tiny insects creeping up his arms and the back of his neck. This was closely followed by a cold, dry fear settling in his stomach. Voldemort had never affected him this way. But then, Harry reasoned, he had never been voluntarily hiding out near the scene of a murder waiting to witness it, nor had he been connected through a magical bond to the emotional temperature of the victims. Undoubtedly, he was feeling their trepidation as well as his own. Harry began to feel very ill, and an icy sweat began to creep across his forehead. But where was Voldemort?

A moment after this thought escaped, the man in question appeared from the thickly gathering fog. Harry tensed, sucking his breath in sharply through his teeth. A tall figure in a dark cloak walked calmly up to the front door and blasted it down without a moment of hesitation. The percussiveness of the sound caused Harry to flinch when it hit his eardrums. He stifled the urge to cry out, and crouched lower in the bushes with his back turned resolutely away from the house, gripping his hair so tightly his scalp began to smart. In a matter of seconds, his father would jump in front of his killer and resign himself to dying for his family.

And the curse came, propelled across the connection between father and son, and buried itself deep into Harry's very soul, wrenching and ripping, and stretching and strangling with such force that Harry was knocked several feet to the side and collided with a tree. It burned behind his eyes and seeped into his scar until he was sure the tiny lightning bolt had to be glowing magma-red in the dark night. He couldn't remember it being this painful before, in the Dark room when he faced it the first time. _But you knew this would be worse_, he said to himself, and immediately countered with_ not this much worse. _Harry contorted on the ground, shaking from the force of the hatred coursing through him. His very blood was boiling in his veins, burning every inch of his body from the inside out. He turned as much of his coherent mind as was left to him to the task of pushing back against the curse, but it felt like a very weak defense to him. Slowly, the curse was winning, and he only had one of it inside him. What would happen when Voldemort cast it on Lily?

The answer was more pain. And more force. Harry felt his body lifted off the ground and flung around as if he was no more than a leaf caught up in a whirlwind. He could hear the spell hissing in his ears, like water dripping into boiling oil. He gave up on fighting. All he could do was contain it, hold onto it and keep from dying until he could release it all back towards the man who was responsible. He felt his body crash into a rock, or a tree, and warm blood began to drip over his eyes and into his mouth. It was then that he realized his mouth was open, and he was screaming soundlessly into the night. His throat was refusing to release anything but a steady hiss of air. It was all the sound his body had the strength to give to his distress.

And then he felt the third curse, a blinding white flame of horrific strength that drove him down into the earth with the force of a giant, and screamed its triumph in his ear with the voice of a thousand vultures. At the moment when Harry was sure there was no more ability left in him, that he had already died and only his spirit was clinging to the hope of saving another soul, he let out a breath and released the spell back from whence it came. It fled from him with a frustrated wail, and he deflated and lay limply on the ground, immobile and frozen with terror, and was only barely aware of the thunderous rumble that signified the spell had backfired at last. He turned his head slightly in time to see the house crumbling in on itself like a brittle cracker, a green light flashing near an upstairs window, and he heard an unearthly wail of fury as a ghostlike form erupted with a deafening boom from the left side of the house and tore into the sky, its cry diminishing into the fog until there was nothing left of it.

A shrill cry pierced Harry's scattered mind. Prongslet was voicing his shock and displeasure to the world from somewhere amongst the rubble. Harry didn't allow himself to think about the injured child who would gradually inherit his life. He didn't allow himself to consider the fact that his body was broken and he should be resting somewhere to heal. He didn't allow himself to think at all. He just ran. He tore across the lawn towards the wreckage, hardly registering the fierce ache in his limbs, and began feverishly searching for his parents. His father was trapped beneath what was once a door frame, face downward on the ground. Harry held his breath to keep from vomiting as he poked the needle into James' left shoulder. He didn't dare turn him over, nor did he try to feel for a pulse. He knew he wouldn't find one, whether because the potions were doing their job or because the plan had failed.

Lily was on the second floor in nursery, Harry knew already, and he found to his relief that the stairs were still somewhat usable. There was no need to try scaling a crumbling wall today. When he found his mother, she was face up, eyes open and glassy, and Harry could not control his stomach this time. He managed to hold his supper down long enough to depress the plunger on the syringe, and then he collapsed by her side, heaving his misery into the ruin of his childhood home.

Harry realized gradually that the child's cry that had once been far away from him was now quite close. He raised his head at last to see Prongslet, blood streaming from a familiar cut on his forehead that looked much larger on the tiny boy, shaking his mother's arm and whimpering piteously, "Mama! Mama!" Harry's heart bled. He longed to comfort the child, tell him it was all right to cry, but that it would eventually all work itself out, but no words came. Indeed, Harry couldn't even tell himself honestly that it would end well. He didn't know. But what he did know was that he could not let himself be seen here, especially not by his younger self.

Just as he was about to drag himself away, Prongslet looked up from his awkward position half in and half out of his shattered cot, and saw him. Confusion and hope chased each other across the child's features. "Daddy?" he questioned, and held out his arms. Harry stared painfully at himself for a few indecisive moments, and then resolutely raised his wand to perform the only charm he could reliably do with his limited magical control. The Professor had worked with him over many days to perfect it. _"Obliviate!"_ he cried, and the child slumped back into the cot, his eyes glazing over.

"Sorry, kiddo," Harry whispered, "but I can't have you remembering me."

In the distance Harry heard the unmistakable loud crack of apparation, and a large form huffing and puffing up the drive. Within moments he heard a familiar voice crying out, "Lily an' James! Oh, sweet Merlin, no! Ye can' be dead, ye jus' can' be dead!"

Hagrid. There was no time to go back down the stairs, so Harry let himself gently down the mass of wood and destruction outside the window and melted as best he could back into the darkness. He knew he wouldn't be able to bear seeing his distraught godfather arriving – Hagrid's roar of grief upon discovering the bodies was almost more than he could take – so he reached into his shirt and quickly set his time turner the correct number of years, and let it spin, hoping he'd arrive in the right place. The world around him began to dissolve and he felt a pressure in his chest as time compressed and he was flung forward. However quickly the world disappeared, though, it wasn't quick enough to mask the sound of Sirius' motorbike arriving on the scene, and the terrible sound of his godfather crying out his parents' names, and then Harry's own, in desperation.

He landed forcibly on the ground on all fours, retching. He was shaking all over, his head was spinning, and he had barely enough presence of mind to drag himself under a bush and curl up before the sobs came, and unconsciousness soon after.


	17. Chapter 13

Author's Note: A shorter chapter, so I could get it up quickly. It's been a long time, so to recap for those of you who have been patiently waiting: The last chapter was Voldemort's attack on the Potter's house. Harry took in the killing curse to himself as it was cast on his parents, and James and Lily both hopefully survived it. Harry administered the potions to keep them seeming dead for the next fifteen years, and got himself out of there, using the time turner to go forward in time, where he collapsed from misery and exhaustion.

* * *

_Chapter 13 – A Sirius Situation_

Sirius Black sighed wistfully and sank into the worn leather of an heirloom armchair in the Black family study at Grimmauld Place. The firelight flickered and danced in front of his half-lidded eyes, causing the shadows in the room to leap and fall and spin about in a sort of unearthly dance. Sirius had just spent yet another long and uneventful day cooped up in his old empty house, which had become more of a prison than anything else, and from whose monotony he was only saved at odd periods of time when an Order member showed up to share some news or use the Floo ("or the Loo," Sirius said to himself with a half-hearted chuckle). That hadn't happened for a few days now, and Sirius was trying to take up his time with laboriously cleaning every nook and cranny of the house, and when he was tired, thinking back over his happier moments. He also thought about Harry. Harry, who would be nearing the end of his fifth year now and taking his O.W.L.s. Harry, enduring detentions with that ogre of a woman, Umbridge. Harry, who had witnessed Arthur Weasley being mauled by a giant snake, and who faced terror and pain every day. Sirius sighed again. So much for happy thoughts.

Sirius tried to distract himself from his depression by focusing more intently on the flames. It didn't work. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand wearily through his dark hair. He hated this. He hated all of it. Hated the war, the pain, the fear; hated hiding, hated being cooped up here while Harry suffered elsewhere. Harry… Merlin, he loved the boy. Almost as a son. He wished that for once he could actually do something for him, instead of keeping himself out of harm's way. That had been the purpose of escaping from Azkaban, after all. Kill Peter, run away with Harry and be a family. Once he had been out of prison, those two thoughts that had been his only lifeline for twelve years expanded and became more complex. Nothing was so simply gained, or so black and white. He wanted to be a family with Harry, yes, but he also wanted the boy's safety and happiness, wanted him to have relationships with his friends, go to school, fall in love. None of these, Sirius realized, would have been possible if he had simply snatched up his godson and run off with him as he'd originally planned. And so for the time being, he had to be content with Grimmauld Place and keeping his distance, much as he hated it. Still, that didn't mean there wasn't anything at all that he could do to help, did it? There had to be something, anything that he could do.

A distant buzz sounded somewhere on the fringes of Sirius's attention, and he dimly allowed his mind to locate and identify it. After only a few seconds of thought, he bolted upright, quite a feat in the incredibly cushy chair, and made his way stealthily towards the source of the noise, wand drawn. Grimmauld Place had been outfitted with a simple alarm system that was geared to buzz when an intruder approached the house. Of course, nobody could get through the wards or see the house without the secret keeper's leave, but as Sirius knew all too well, a secret keeper was not a guarantee. This particular alarm sound indicated that someone had not only approached, but managed to breach the outer wards and was now too close for comfort. On occasion, the alarm had been tripped by a drunkard, or a muggle teenager, or even a stray animal, but they never stayed within the wards for long. They were always convinced suddenly that there was something important to do elsewhere. But the buzz persisted. Whoever had gotten through wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

There was a part of Sirius that was very concerned for the safety of the home and the Order, but another, larger, more insistent part of him was quivering with excitement that he might actually get to do something interesting for once. Was it a Death Eater? A spy? An enchanted animal? Moving swiftly and silently, more like a cat than his usual canine counterpart, Sirius crept through the house and out the back door. He felt no fear, no uncertainty, only anticipation. He had been shut in this house for far too long. He transformed into Padfoot and headed out into the gathering darkness.

The world seemed to be holding its breath. Not a leaf, not a single blade of grass twitched, because there wasn't the faintest whisper of wind to tempt them. Sirius's cloak swelled and shrank, blowing a small amount of air on the greenery as he passed; the only movement other than the soft padding of his feet.

There didn't appear to be anything amiss on the property, much to his disappointment. He walked twice around the house looking for signs, then raised his nose to smell the air. A storm was coming, he could smell the heat and wildness of it. But there was something else in the wind, something harsher and tangier – sweat, and a hint of blood. Human blood. So there was an intruder, and whoever it was had been in contact with fresh blood recently. Whether it was the intruder's own, or someone else's, Sirius wasn't sure. He took another whiff. No, there was only one scent. The blood belonged to the intruder, and he was nearby. But more than that, the scent was familiar. Very familiar.

With a gasp of horror, Sirius tore towards the scent. Here, it was here, under a bush. A body. Harry's body. Stifling a cry, Sirius transformed back to himself and rolled over his godson's inert form. He appeared to be breathing shallowly, but his face was smeared with dark blood, as were his hands and the front of his shirt. He was so pale he appeared almost translucent in the dusk light.

Sirius scooped up the boy in his arms and fled back inside the house. He lay him out on the kitchen table and began to clean off the blood with a damp cloth. It wasn't until he had uncovered Harry's actual face thet he began to realize something was wrong. This was not the face of a fifteen year old, but of an older man, closer to his twenties perhaps. And this was not the only difference. There were scars on the face and neck that Sirius did not recall ever having seen before, the clothes fit tighter to Harry's form, as if he had suddenly gained a great deal of muscle, and then there were the robes themselves, made from a thick black fabric that Sirius did not recognize, and guessed was actually fireproof. There was no doubt about it. This was a very different Harry than the one that had locked himself in his room at Christmas. Something had happened. Something big, something awful.

Sirius was drawn out of his confused thoughts as Harry gave a low moan. Sirius placed a hand on his godson's forehead and gently called his name. Harry's eyes fluttered open, then widened as they focused on Sirius's face. He tried to sit up, but Sirius held him back, noticing as he did so that Harry had definitely grown taller and heavier than he remembered.

"Easy, kiddo, no sudden moved. You can move around later when you're explaining why you grew up so damn fast. For now, just sit back and tell me where you're hurt," he said.

Harry was looking at him with a peculiar expression on his face. He raised his hand softly, almost reverently, to Sirius's own, and then gripped his arm fiercely. He looked into Sirius's face, eyes glimmering with the beginnings of tears, and whispered, "You're real. You're alive." Sirius barely had time to absorb that Harry's voice had deepened as well before Harry had pulled him into an embrace and began silently weeping onto his shoulder.

Sirius was taken completely off guard. Never in an eon of moons would he have predicted this scenario, those words, nor would he have believed that Harry would hug him so freely, and display such vulnerability. Harry was never demonstrative with his affection, although he accepted other people's hugs and handshakes with gratitude and surprise. Sirius awkwardly patted Harry on the back, unsure of what else to do. When it became clear that Harry was not going to let him go any time soon, Sirius simply wrapped his arms firmly around the boy's shaking body and held him. He had often himself longed for an embrace like this, a way to show Harry how solidly he loved and supported him, but there had never been an opportunity. He was not going to turn this one away, no matter how perplexed he was by why it was happening in the first place.

After several minutes had passed, Sirius gently maneuvered Harry into a chair and sat down across from him. Harry was reluctant to break contact completely, Sirius kept a firm grasp on his hand. Gradually Harry calmed down and his breathing evened out, and Sirius began wiping away the blood on his face and hands again. Harry submitted to these ministrations in silence. It wasn't until Sirius had cleaned and bandaged the many small cuts and lacerations that he decided it was time to ask questions.

"Harry," he said, "What the hell is going on?"

Harry blinked and wiped his face on his sleeve. He looked slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I guess I kind of lost it there for a moment."

Sirius shook his head. "It's not a problem, really. I'm honored you felt safe enough to let go like that, to be honest." He smiled. "I know you've been struggling to let things out lately, and I'm glad I could be here when you needed to. You've been through a lot this year."

Harry had to think for a moment to place what Sirius meant. Ah yes. Mr. Weasley at Christmas, and the dreams. Occlumency. Cho. Umbridge, and her inquisitorial squad. Fifth year, of course. He blushed. "I have been a bit of an idiot, haven't I?"

Sirius smiled. "Aren't we all at fifteen?" Harry returned the smile, though he remained downcast, looking at the floor between his feet. "Harry?" prompted Sirius.

Harry sighed. He knew what he had to say, and he knew it wouldn't be any easier the second time around. In fact, it would probably be harder. Only minutes ago, in his mind, he had witnessed his parents murder and endured incredible pain through the curse that killed them. He had been thrown into trees by the force of it, and he was fairly certain, now that the adrenaline had passed, that his injuries extended beyond simple cuts and scrapes. Of course, he didn't have to say as much this time, because a great deal of the story he told his parents had already happened by this time. Thank heaven for small favors.

"Look, Sirius," he began, "I won't beat around the bush. I'm too tired to do anything other than come straight to the point, and I'm sure you're wondering about all this, right?"

Sirius nodded. "You look older."

"I am older."

This took Sirius by surprise. "Of course, you may feel that way Harry. Our experiences can affect the way we see ourselves, and after all you've been through…"

"No, Sirius, I don't mean like that. I mean as far as age. I'm twenty years old."

"You're what?"

"Do you remember about a week before my parents died, a mysterious man turned up at Godric's Hollow to speak to my dad?"

Sirius gaped. "How do you know about that?"

"So you remember?"

"Of course! I was horrified…"

"Because he found the house, or because you weren't allowed in the conversation?"

"How…?" Sirius looked completely gobsmacked. "Harry, neither Remus nor I has ever spoken to you about this. How do you know? What do you know?"

Harry sighed again, gently massaging small circles into his temples. "This is harder than I thought," he said at last. "So you see, that guy, the one with the cloak?"

"Yes?"

"That was me."

Silence.

"Come again?"

"That was me. I used a timeturner, a really specialized one for long time gaps, because I needed to tell them something. That owl was Hedwig." Harry paused, trying to gauge Sirius's reaction, but Sirius didn't seem to know what his reaction was any more than Harry did, so he pressed on with the story. He left nothing out. "And then I came here, and here is still five years in my past."

Sirius was reeling. He couldn't believe it, and yet Harry's story matched up flawlessly with his own recollections, and there was no disputing the obvious physical changes in his godson. Harry's eyes alone conveyed such depth and honesty that Sirius couldn't help but be swayed. One question, however, remained to be resolved. "Harry, if all this is true, then why the devil did you come to me?" Harry eyed him questioningly. "You went to save your parents, and hopefully to fix the Longbottoms. You're trying to save people you lost, so…" Recognition dawned on his face; Harry's response, his declaration of "you're alive," it all began to make sense. "Harry, am I going to die?"

"Not if I can help it." The venom in Harry's voice caught Sirius in the gut. That was it, then. Harry was here to change the past again. He was here to save Sirius's life.

"Sirius," Harry began, halted, and kept going, "I can't tell you how you die, because it might change how you do things, and I can't risk the repercussions of that. All I can tell you is this: once it happens, and you'll know when it does, grab something and hold on. Don't look into the place you're going, keep your eyes towards where you came from. Don't turn to a sound, or a movement, don't let yourself be distracted by anything. Hold on as if your life depends on it, because it does. Tomorrow at 9:15, drink both of these." Harry pulled the yellow and red vials from within his robes. "You must drink both, Sirius, down to the last drop. And don't worry about side effects, or inaccurate ingredients. My mum brewed both of them, and they were protected during travel by my robes."

Sirius looked at them in awe before pocketing them. "Harry, what…"

"Stop, Sirius," Harry interrupted. "I don't have time to talk about this. Anyone could walk in, and I'm exhausted and in pain and I need to go somewhere so I can heal. All you need to remember is to hold on. You'll understand when you get there. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Harry stood up to go, and stiffened momentarily as he heard the rush of the floo nearby, and the sound of shoes moving along the floor. He looked at Sirius one last time and said, "I hurt from your loss for five years, and blamed myself for it for much of that time. I swear to you, as it is in my power and capability, I will not let it happen again." Then with a swish of a cloak and the click of a door latch, he was gone, leaving Sirius frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the spot where his grown godson had been standing only moments before. At that moment the door behind him opened, admitting a grinning Remus.

"Padfoot!" Remus said, "You won't believe what I just saw outside. Honestly, those muggles." He stopped short at the look on Sirius's face. It was the look of a man who had just been read his death sentence. Little did Remus know just how close to the mark that hit.


	18. Chapter 14

A/N - Dedicated to my lovely reader Prongslet. (See, I told you I'd get it posted quickly!)

* * *

_Chapter 14 – A Glimpse of the Future_

Harry wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to do with himself for the next 24 hours. He had found Hedwig, who had been thrown forward with him, but had landed quite a distance away and lay there stunned until he collected her. He had given Sirius the potions, and the instructions. Now he needed to rest. His ribs ached, and he was fairly sure he had a small fracture in his left wrist. That was all right, though. He'd nicked some salves and potions from Grimmauld place before slipping away, and they had already begun to work. But they would work better and faster if he could find a place to lie down. He had originally thought that perhaps he could go directly to Godric's Hollow and try to reawaken his parents, but he wasn't sure how long that would take, how tiring it would be, or if he could even manage it on his own. Hopefully when he did go, he would have Sirius by his side to help him. He smiled at the thought: himself, Sirius, and his parents all together.

But where would they go? They would have to stay hidden for five years, somewhere the wizarding world would never find them. And now he had a goal. He had 24 hours to heal, and find a place for them to stay, to hide. It didn't need to be permanent. It just needed to be somewhere they could recuperate until they found themselves a home in the muggle world.

Harry felt Hedwig hoot softly next to his ear as she landed on his shoulders. He reached up and gently scratched the top of her head and said, "I'm going to go scope out Godric's Hollow, see if there's anything around there we can use." Then he let her loose and turned on the spot, disappearing with only the faintest sound. Apparition, because it did not require him to channel his magic in the same way spellcasting did, was still something he could reliably do with his unstable magic, for which he was grateful.

Godric's Hollow itself had nothing to offer. James and Lily couldn't move into a house there, for a number of reasons, but Harry was more interested in the land around the village. He didn't want to have to travel too far from the cemetery once they were revived, but he needed a place that was also far enough away from people that they couldn't be found. The answer lay only a half-mile from the cemetery: a hilly forest with plenty of possible hiding spots. He apparated once again and reappeared in a small clearing surrounded by enormous fir trees. The air smelled sweet and slightly tangy, and the taste of decomposition tickled his tongue. He smiled and breathed deeply, savoring the solitude of the place. There was no war, no evil in this place. Voldemort hadn't touched this place, and never would if Harry had anything to say about it. Harry walked forward slowly, listening to the light crackle of twigs and leaves under his feet and the twittering of birdsong overhead in the trees. It was so peaceful here. Why couldn't all of England feel this free?

"It will," he promised himself. "I will make it free." With that resolution in his mind, Harry began to search in earnest. 24 hours really wasn't all that long, when he thought about it. He climbed for quite a while; he wasn't sure how long, just that it was a steep rise and his feet were tired and his ribs aching. After a time Hedwig joined him, the telltale signs of a recent fresh meal lingering on the side of her beak. This reminded Harry that besides being tired and footsore, he was also hungry.

"And of course I can't eat raw meat, and I don't really have the energy or knowledge to forage," he muttered to himself. "Do you think you could find me something I could eat, Hedwig? Maybe snitch something from the village?"

Obviously, Hedwig did think so, because a moment later her weight was gone from Harry's shoulder and she had disappeared into the deepening night. With a sigh, Harry settled himself on the ground by a large oak tree and closed his eyes. If he was going to take a break to eat, he may as well use the time to rest. He carefully placed his time turner on a rock by his head so he wouldn't crush it as he slept, and closed his eyes. By the time Hedwig returned with a small loaf of bread in her talons, Harry was fast asleep.

* * *

Several hours later, Harry was awake and wishing he could use his wand so he could roast a squirrel or something. He was grateful for the bread Hedwig brought him, but it did not go far to ease the pang in his belly.

It was now close to midnight, as far as he could tell by his inner clock. The forest was nearly silent, but for the occasional rustle or growl from a nocturnal creature. It was nearly impossible to see where he was going, so he trusted Hedwig to guide him as best she could. He managed to get a small light to cling to the end of his wand when he was finally fed up with the darkness, and used it to navigate for a good fifteen minutes before his foot caught on a root and sent him sprawling forward onto his ribs, which had healed some from his pilfered potions, but were still quite sore. He reached a hand up to his throat to make sure the time turner hadn't been damaged in the fall, and… sweet Merlin, the time turner!

Harry was on his feet in a moment. He ran his hands up his neck and over his shoulders, and shook his robes carefully, but the tiny hourglass did not reappear. Of all the stupid things he could have done, he had forgotten his ticket home on a rock back by that tree where he'd slept. Harry groaned. How in Merlin's name was he supposed to backtrack and find it in this darkness? Thankfully Hedwig seemed to have a pretty good idea of where to go.

"Why didn't you remind me?" Harry grumbled at the owl. Hedwig didn't answer.

Everything looked much the same as it had when Harry had been there only minutes before, and he had little trouble locating the correct rock, but the time turner wasn't there. Thinking it must have slid off to the ground, he began a careful search of the surrounding area. He was seriously regretting his choice to head out immediately after meeting with Sirius. Why hadn't he just spent the night there and set out in the daylight? But it was no use to complain about that now. He moved his foot to change position and as he shifted his weight he heard a delicate crunch. He froze, and cursed under his breath as he lifted his foot and looked beneath it. There, reduced to a tiny pile of crushed glass and sand, was his only link to his own time. Like it or not, he was going to be stuck here for a very long time.

* * *

A rainstorm had finally come in while Harry was collecting the pieces of the time turner, and now he just wanted to find some shelter and sleep for the rest of the night. It was sheer luck that he stumbled across the low entrance of a rocky cave-like spot, overgrown with wildlife and not entirely dry inside. It was well concealed, and once he was inside, more spacious than he would have thought, although he had to stoop to avoid ramming his head on the ceiling. It would be a simple matter to fix those problems with magic, though. This meant that although he had to deal with them for the night, if this did become the temporary location for his parents, it wouldn't take long for them to make it liveable.

With daylight, Harry was able to investigate his find more fully, and realized that if crawled deeper inside a small tunnel near the back, it actually opened into a small cavern with a high enough ceiling that he could stand. It was slightly open to the outside, and so it was damp and chill from the storm. Sirius would hate it, of course, it being far too similar to the cooped up living conditions he was trying to get away from, but he would just have to deal with it. Harry was fairly certain that Lily would find some small muggle flat as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Of course, things would change if Harry couldn't repair his time turner. They would have to find a home for four people who needed to stay hidden, and three was already going to be difficult. Perhaps he and Sirius would live together. Sirius would like that. But Harry knew he needed to get back to his own time. He knew what the future looked like, and he did not want to have to wait five years to return.

Having decided that this cavern would serve as his base, he instructed Hedwig to learn it from the sky so she could find it again, and headed back down towards the village. From there, he apparated back to Grimmauld. He slipped inside when Padfoot showed up to find what had tripped the wards, and hurried to the room he had claimed as his own many years ago. He was fairly certain Sirius would smell him and come looking for him, but he would rather that than be discovered by someone else because he tarried too long in the common areas.

There was nothing much to do until either Sirius came and found him, or it came time to head to the ministry, so Harry curled up on the sunken mattress and ran over his plan in his head. There was no way to apparate into the ministry, and he could not enter through any guest entrances, because his name would be recorded. He knew that there were no ministry officials who could overlook two Harry Potters entering the ministry within minutes of each other, and the wards around the perimeter of the building would make it impossible for him to sneak in any other way. His best bet, as far as he could tell, would be to piggyback with someone else, and somehow manage to avoid giving his name. He didn't believe he'd be able to slip into the phone booth with the DA, unless he had an invisibility cloak and could turn himself into a gnat. No, he would have to be stealthy and brilliant in a way that would make the marauders swell with pride. Harry smiled. Perhaps he could bring a souvenir to prove he'd done it. Surely nobody would notice a bauble had gone missing in the midst of all the chaos and globes breaking and time turners smashing.

Time turners! The ministry had time turners! Harry could feel a wide grin creeping across his face. It was perfect. While everyone was staggering around dodging spells, he'd just nick a time turner off a shelf and slip into the shadows, and no one would be the wiser. Voila, he was saved! The main trouble would be sneaking around the room during the battle and being neither distracted nor discovered. But he could do that. Of course he could.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of the door creaking open. A moment later he heard Sirius's voice call out, "Harry? Are you in here?" He sat up on the bed and regarded his godfather, whose eyes lit up upon seeing him there.

"I thought it was you I smelled earlier in the garden. I guess I didn't expect you to come back today. You seemed like you were planning on keeping your distance until later on." He closed the door and stood there awkwardly, then moved to the edge of the bed and sat down. "So, well, I – I don't really know what to say to you."

Harry looked down at his hands at plucked at the hem of a blanket. Neither man spoke. In truth, Harry didn't know what to say either. It had been easier to talk to his parents. He'd had a whole week with them, and they'd broken the ice by working together on the spells. This was just waiting, and now that Sirius was actually here in front of him and there was nothing more to share about the plan, Harry found himself tongue-tied and anxious.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Can I, uh, ask you a question?" Harry nodded. "You're twenty, right?" Harry nodded again. "And I know you must have been through an awful lot in the next five years. I can tell that much just by looking at you, hearing you talk. You sound like a grown-up, you know that?" Sirius glanced up and smiled, traces of pride flickering in his eyes. "I hate to think of you suffering, and so seeing you like this, and those scars on your neck and face, I guess, I want to know, if you don't mind my asking, how did you get them?"

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to answer Sirius's question. He hadn't told his parents anything of the trials he'd been through, preferring to keep them ignorant of his pain so they could all focus. But Sirius, he felt he could tell Sirius at least a little. And he wanted to. He wanted Sirius to know, to look at him in sympathy, and then rage at the injustice of the world. Even though he had never spent much time with his godfather, there had been implicit trust there from nearly day one.

"It's a long story," he said at last.

"We have all day," Sirius answered.

"Yeah, I suppose we do." Harry leaned back and stared up at the watermarks in the ceiling. This house really was in terrible shape. "I won't tell you everything, because there's a lot I don't want to say out loud, you know? But I can tell you how I got this one." He ran a finger across the jagged scar on his jaw that ran down nearly to his adam's apple. "Do you remember when I came to the house at Godric's Hollow and was talking to Dad inside that bubble?"

"Yes, of course I do. It was all Remus could do to keep me from dashing in and beating on you."

"I'm glad you didn't," Harry said wryly. "Anyway, there was a moment when Dad leaned across the table and shouted at me, and I stood and shouted back. At that moment, what I was yelling was that I would not be interrogated ever again."

Sirius eyed Harry carefully. "When were you interrogated?"

"Over two years ago, from my perspective. The war wasn't going well. More and more people were siding with Voldemort, or claiming neutrality to keep themselves out of harm's way. There was… an incident. I was captured by this group of people who would collect private information to sell to the highest bidder. They were frighteningly powerful, using old lost magic from the Celtic mages. We called them Mongrels, because nobody knew whose side they were really on or where they'd come from."

"And you-know-who wasn't going after them?"

"Not wholeheartedly. They were able to give him some very important information. They supplied him with resources that he'd had difficulty getting before. So he mostly let them be, just tried to keep their numbers down so they wouldn't turn into a threat."

Sirius exhaled loudly. "So in the future, we're basically fighting two different enemies at the same time."

"Yes. Not good for our side." Harry stood up and walked to the tall wardrobe in the corner and traced the wood grain with his finger. "Anyway, they captured me. They wanted something, information, that they believed I had."

"Did you?"

"Does it make a difference? Either way, I refused to help them."

Something clicked in Sirius's mind. "They hurt you," he growled.

"They did." Harry was silent for a moment. "I'll spare you the details, since you don't want to hear them and I don't want to give them. Suffice it to say, they came dangerously close to breaking my spirit in a way that no one had managed before. I would sit on one side of the table, and the questioner on the other, hurling snide remarks and threats, and I was exhausted and turned my head away and just took it. I was afraid of that man, Sirius. He was brilliant and terrifying. Every day I told myself I would look him in the eye, and every day I found myself unable to do so."

Harry headed back to the bed and sat down again. "I was convinced I was going to die there, that he was going to kill me and I would never see any of my friends again. I remember the day I resolved to die with honor." He laughed a little. "That phrase, 'die with honor,' sounds so melodramatic. But I meant it. I'm not entirely sure how it happened after that, but I suspect someone must have been helping me. Otherwise, I don't see how it could have gone so smoothly. There was an altercation between a few guards, I dodged a spell and it hit another guard, and after that it was mayhem because of the smoke. The guard next to me on the ground was carrying the key to my restraints, and in the confusion I was able to get myself free. I ran towards the exit to the building and ran headlong into a blood ward that had been designed specifically to injure prisoners who tried to escape. It slashed me pretty badly, but I barely felt it at the time because of the adrenaline. Still, it cut deep, and I was bleeding quite a lot, enough that I probably would have bled out if the Professor hadn't found me."

"The Professor?" asked Sirius.

"A great man. Really incredible. He became my mentor. He's even more crotchety than Aberforth Dumbledore, but he's kind, and wise, and I owe him more than my life."

Sirius looked extremely interested. "What's his name?"

Harry laughed out loud. "You don't know him, if that's what you're wondering. Anyway, that's the story. That's how I got this scar. There's another larger one going down the front of my chest that lines up with this one pretty well."

Sirius gulped. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry that happened." He stood up and paced the room a little. "When we get back to your time, you give me the bastard's name who did that to you, and I'll tear him apart."

"You don't need to," said Harry, "although I appreciate the offer. He was taken down a few months ago. The Mongrels were disbanded. The first thing to go our way in a long time."

"Who took him out?" asked Sirius.

Harry grinned. "Oh, nobody important."

"Who?" Sirius asked again. "Was it you?"

"No, not me. I wasn't there."

"The way you're grinning though, it has to be someone I know. It must have been someone in the Order."

"Possibly."

Sirius growled. "You're infuriating."

Harry stood up and smoothed his robes. "I'm also hungry. I haven't eaten since yesterday. What do you have for food in this house?"

"Not too much, I'm afraid, but certainly enough to tide you over until you reach civilization again."

"Sounds good to me."


	19. A Letter to My Readers

To my wonderful readers and followers:

I have somewhat lost interest in this story, as I've grown into other fandoms. However, I do NOT want to be that person that says "Sorry, I know you've been faithful in reading, but too bad for you because I'm stopping it here without any resolution," so I have decided to make it my crusade to finish this story in the next few months. I won't be spending the same time and care on it, so the quality may suffer a little, but I at least wanted to make sure that those of you who are invested in the storyline get to see it in its completion. Meaning, I will take the story through the entirety of its planned trajectory, from beginning to end, and won't cut corners to save time for myself. This is what I've decided. That way, I get it done, you get to read it, and none of us are left hanging. So please, since this is more of a chore now than it was before, feel free to send me notes and thoughts about what's happened, what you think is going to happen, and just general encouragement. I believe that will help me produce a better story for you and not get stuck in the rut of just typing and posting to get it over with. I am SO grateful and stunned by the response this story has gotten over the years, and the best way to thank you is to do it justice now.

Thank you again, and hopefully I will have something up for you to read very soon.

~M


	20. Chapter 15

A/N - Hello! Here's another chapter for you. It was getting really long, though, so I've split it up into two, which I'm sure none of you will complain about. Thank you so incredibly much to everyone who sen encouraging notes to me. It definitely made it easier to get back into this. I am so grateful for the enthusiasm of all you faithful readers out there. There are still people reviewing that I remember from way back at the beginning of this journey. So thank you again, to all of you. I hope I continue to entertain you with this story.

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Chapter 15 – To the Ministry

One thing Harry had forgotten about Grimmauld Place was how oppressively dark it was. Even though he could see quite well, from one end of a room or hallway to the other without obstruction, still he felt as though he needed to navigate with arms outstretched, lest he ram unceremoniously into a wall or a stair rail. It was a darkness that had been built up in munge and despair for a very long time, and it oozed into every pore if he wasn't careful to keep his mind focused elsewhere. It was no wonder, really, that everyone had been so bad-tempered the last time he'd been here. It was nearly impossible to feel anything but black depression and pessimism in these halls. Still, it was what it was, and there was no changing it now. And thankfully, neither he nor Sirius would be here for much longer.

Harry glanced up from his paltry meal at the clock hanging above the kitchen sink. It was nearly 9:00. He and Sirius had talked, and read, and rested all day long. It was the most companionable he'd felt in this house for as long as he could remember. But now it was nearly time. In a matter of minutes, Harry would leave the house and head to the Ministry, where he would wait for an opportunity to enter. Sirius would drink his potions and wait for the summons from the Order – a summons he still knew nothing about, despite his many attempts to weasel details out of his godson. Harry could feel the now familiar thick bubble of anxiety congealing in his stomach. It was beginning. If this didn't work, he'd be right back where he started. Sirius would be dead. Harry also realized that this second chance was something he owed entirely to the compassion and ingenuity of his mother. He had given up all hope of reviving Sirius when he'd arrived at Godric's Hollow later than planned. Lily had given him hope, and he didn't want to waste it. At the very least, he had an opportunity to let Sirius know how much he meant to him.

But then, he hadn't told Sirius, had he? Despite this opportunity, he still hadn't actually said it. Realizing the time of his departure was near, and there was no telling when someone from the Order might show up, Harry stood and left the kitchen. He threw open the door to the study with more force than he'd intended. Sirius, who had been staring morosely into an empty potion bottle while sitting in front of the fire, leapt to his feet in surprise and drew his wand on instinct. Upon seeing who it was, Sirius's eyes softened. "Harry, what–" He didn't get a chance to finish.

"I was just thinking, if you die, if this doesn't work," Sirius blanched, " then you wouldn't know, because I never told you." Harry paused and took a deep breath. He was never good at this sort of conversation.

"Told me what?" Sirius prompted.

"Told you…" He stopped. How to say it? Openly declaring affection was a tricky business. He'd never even told Ginny how he felt about her, which is probably why nothing much ever happened between them, except that thing in sixth year, right before everything went to hell. He shook himself free of his thoughts and looked back at his bewildered godfather. _Out with it, Potter,_ he said to himself. _Are you a Gryffindor or aren't you?_

"I never blamed you." Oh. That wasn't what he'd been planning to say. Sirius looked confused.

"Blamed me for what?"

"For Pettigrew," answered Harry. "For what happened that night."

Sirius's eyes blurred, and Harry plowed on, suddenly realizing how much he needed to say this. "I was there when you convinced Dad to switch. Your argument made perfect sense. I mean, everything you said about people not suspecting him, you were right. It was Peter's fault, not yours. I… I don't want you to beat yourself up about it, and I know that's all you've been doing all this time. And you shouldn't. You really shouldn't. You didn't betray anyone's trust, and Mom and Dad never blamed you either, because they trusted you, and so do I."

There were actually tears on Sirius's face now. He clearly needed to hear this as much as Harry needed to let it out. Sirius looked like he was about to say something, but Harry knew that if he stopped now, he'd never finish, so he kept talking.

"And another thing. When you were," his voice cracked, "dead, I finally figured out how much you meant to me, how much just knowing you were out there, believing in me, kept me going. And I'd never told you. You're sort of a weird brother/uncle/dad mix, and I've really come to, just, appreciate everything you've done for me. It's really… nice, too, knowing I mean something to you, because I never meant anything to anybody as a kid, so…" Harry looked up from studying his feet. "Thanks."

Sirius took three steps forward and wrapped his arms around Harry, who embraced him back without any hesitation. "Everything you just said," said Sirius, "right back at you."

* * *

The evening was unbearably slow after that. Harry felt relieved that he had settled things with Sirius, but that did not ease the intense anxiety in his gut which every moment threatened to exit through his mouth. Harry had apparated with his invisibility cloak to a side street near the Ministry, and was now crouched outside the phone booth on a small patch of grass with a bush and a lamppost, berating himself for more than usually poor planning skills. As much as he'd thought it over, he still hadn't come up with any reliable way of getting inside the Ministry unnoticed. _If only Hermione were here,_ he thought, and an image of his bushy-haired, book-loving friend popped into hi mind and made him smile. He wondered where she was, how she had been faring in the many months it had been since he'd had any contact with her. The war had separated them all, and it was difficult to get as much as a "hello, I haven't died yet" from one person to another. He hadn't seen her, or Ron, or Ginny, or Remus or Tonks. In fact, the only person from his Hogwarts days that he'd really been in touch with in the last few months was Percy. Percy was, in fact one of the last two people he'd spoken to before heading back in time to Godric's Hollow. He laughed a little at the memory, and pulled his invisibility cloak a little closer around him. He and Percy did not see eye-to-eye on a number of things, and one of them had been Harry's plan. He remembered that conversation vividly.

_He had been fitting Hedwig with a small device to help keep track of her when he made the jump, and Percy had been leaning up against the door, arms crossed, glasses perched on the end of his sagacious nose, looking altogether disapproving._

"_If you're going to come in, then come in," Harry said crossly, "or go. You're making me nervous just hovering in the door like that."_

_Percy took a few steps forward to stand next to the desk. "This is mental," he said._

"_You've mentioned that before, Perce."_

"_I know, but at that point you were just thinking a quick trip there and back, information gathering, that sort of thing. I was referring to the odds of you making such a long trip and making it back accurately and in one piece. Now you've got this whole complicated thing you want to do, stretching the improbable to it's breaking point, and you're even trying to side-along an animal, which destabilizes the whole thing. Have you completely lost what little mind you had?"_

"_You talk too much. Let me work."_

"_This is never going to work."_

"_You don't know that." Harry stood and moved across the room, checking a potion that was merrily bubbling away, making a few notes on a clipboard, and checking the clock on the wall._

_Percy followed him, absently checking Harry's notations to make sure they were accurate and within established parameters. "You can't do this. It goes against every Magical law there is, not to mention every scientific and biological rule in existence!"_

_Harry sighed. "Magic by its very nature goes against Muggle science. That's not the sort of argument I'd expect you to come up with. I generally have a harder time deflecting them." Indeed, they often had long arguments about subjects that Harry was far less knowledgeable in, but no less opinionated. He often left the arguments red-faced and fuming because he was unable to prove his point._

"_This whole operation is madness! Have you even considered the consequences if you should fail?"_

"_I won't fail. I'm not the failing sort." Another notation. Hedwig hooted softly and started chewing on a long quill pen. The potion steamed and gave a little whistle._

"_This is insane. You're not qualified…"_

"_I know what I'm doing." He didn't argue the qualification point because, honestly, who was qualified for this sort of thing? Nobody, that he knew of._

"_No you don't, this is purely conjecture." Percy's voice was getting more shrill by the moment. "You're trying to piece together a theory that doesn't exist!"_

"_It does exist," said Harry patiently._

"_Because you thought of it?"_

"_No, I didn't, actually. I found it. It's credible. Now be quiet, I need to think."_

"_It's credible because you found it? That's not the sort of argument I'd expect you to come up with."_

"_I guess we're both being surprising today, aren't we?" It was a deflection, and he knew it. He hadn't told Percy the source of his information – namely, his father's journals – because he knew it would spark more questions and doubts and conversations that he just didn't want to have. In fact, part of the reason Percy was so frustrated with him was because of how little information Harry had disclosed. But there was another reason, as well, one which he knew Percy would never admit to. He was worried. And, deep down, he understood the need to keep a family together._

"_It's too dangerous. It's not just yourself you're putting at risk, it's me, and everybody else in the Wizarding World!"_

"_I'm willing to take that risk."_

"_You're going to regret this."_

"_No I'm not."_

_Percy blocked Harry's path and looked him squarely in the eye. "You're going to get yourself killed," he said, his voice quiet and intense._

"_No I'm not." At least, hopefully not._

"_You're going to get other people killed."_

"_That is the general idea," said Harry sarcastically._

_Percy rolled his eyes. "You're crazy."_

"_So I've been told."_

_Harry pushed past Percy and moved back to the table. "I know what your opinion is, Percy. You've made it abundantly clear. What I don't understand is, why did you come in here to rehash it now? I leave in less than an hour."_

_Percy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. There was a long pause as Harry shuffled some papers and Hedwig hopped up onto his shoulder. Harry turned around to find Percy regarding him shrewdly. "You know we can't win this, right? The way things are, we can't hope to win this war."_

"_I know."_

"_Everybody out there, they've either given up on you, believing you're dead or incompetent, or they're waiting for you to come in and save them." Harry nodded. "Right now, I don't know which side I'm on."_

"_Which side do you want to be on?" asked Harry._

_Percy shrugged. "I don't know. I want there to be hope again, and peace. I want our government stable, and education available to everyone again. I don't want people in hiding. I want…" he blinked and swallowed. "I want my family back. But I don't know if I can trust you. If I put all my faith in this, this ridiculous, unfounded, fantastical idea of yours, then if and when you don't come back, what do I have left? What do any of us have left?"_

_Harry took a deep breath. "I don't know," he said. "I try not to think that far ahead right now. All any of us can do right now is fight for the present, for the right to live. We have to hold onto whatever we have, and refuse to let it go. That's really all I can say about that. And I can't make up your mind for you, about whether or not to believe in me. Sometimes I don't believe in me either, but I have to try. That's always been true for me, no matter what I've faced. I have to try."_

"_And somehow, despite the odds, you always seem to do all right." Percy hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a package. "Look, I didn't come in here to bash on you again, I really didn't. The truth is, whether I like it or not, you are the only thing I can put my faith in right now. I don't know if I can, completely, but there is one thing I can do." He handed the package to Harry, who took it carefully, and gently pulled open the strings._

_When Harry had been captured by the mongrels, the ensuing struggle had left several people injured, and his invisibility cloak in tatters. The mongrels had thrown it away, deeming it beyond repair. Something so inherently magical would be almost impossible to fix, and none of them had the skill to even attempt it. It wouldn't even sell well on the black market. Harry had believed it lost forever, his last tangible connection to his parents. But now, as he opened the paper sides of the clumsily wrapped package in his hands, and a glitter of familiar soft fabric caught his eye, he had to catch his breath in astonishment. He looked up at Percy, who was looking anywhere but at Harry._

"_I can't do much from here, you know, but I am pretty good with magic, and fixing magical artifacts, and, well, I guess there's only one thing to say." And he turned back, his eyes more serious than Harry had ever seen them. "Good luck."_

Harry shook himself free of the memory and focused back on the entrance to the ministry. The old Percy was probably inside right now, he thought, trying and failing to be a politician. But this Percy wouldn't be any help to him at all, too preoccupied with rules and reputation, and too narrow-minded to understand the urgency of the problem. Harry scanned the sky, hoping the DA hadn't arrived yet. He just needed to figure out how to get in, and then the rest of it he could figure out on the fly. He was sure he could get in either by himself (two visitor tags reading "Harry Potter – rescue mission" would surely cause some suspicion in the Ministry offices) or crammed into the phone booth with six other people. By process of elimination, this meant that he couldn't get in at all, but that wasn't an option he was willing to consider. He examined the side of the building, hoping for some indication of another entrance, but the Ministry was so carefully and skillfully concealed that no one, muggle or wizard, could actually see it until they were inside. It was effectively impossible to break into.

At that moment Harry felt a shadow pass over him, and within moments he saw six bony thestrals gliding towards the ground. He stood, tucking his cloak around him, and eased his way forward very slowly. As his friends approached the phone booth, Harry caught a glimpse of his younger self and was reminded with unwelcome clarity of the terror he had felt that night. He hesitated. There were only a few moments before the DA disappeared inside, but no brilliant last minute plans were forthcoming. He sighed, and one of the thestrals perked up its ears at the noise and whickered softly. Luna turned interestedly towards Harry and stared through him for a few moments. Harry held his breath. They couldn't see him now, or at all. The risks were too great. _Ignore it, Luna, just go inside,_ he said to himself, willing her to follow his instructions.

"Luna, come on!" came Ginny's voice, but the blonde girl didn't move. "What is it, Luna? Did you hear something?"

Luna cocked her head to the side and commented mildly, "That bush just sighed. I think perhaps it is suffering from a deflated aura. See how the twigs are drooping and sharp?"

"The twigs are _supposed_ to be sharp. They're _twigs_. Come on, we're wasting time!" said Ron, his voice slightly muffled in the phone booth.

"Don't, Ronald, you'll upset it. Bushes have feelings too, you know," said Luna, turning to squeeze into the booth. She closed the door almost as an afterthought, and a moment later they all disappeared.

Harry shook himself. That had been his one and possibly only chance, and he knew it, but no matter what way you looked at it, there wasn't any way to get in there without them noticing a seventh body in such a tight space. He kicked out at the bush in frustration as the closest thestral eyed him with mild interest. "Oh, don't tell me _you've_ got a deflated aura as well," Harry snapped at it. There was a light snort, and the thestral quivered slightly. If Harry hadn't known better, he would've sworn the beast was laughing at him. Harry failed to see the humor in the situation.

Minutes passed as Harry sulked in the shadows. The thestral continued to stare at him, and Harry was becoming increasingly uncomfortable under its scrutiny. Finally he couldn't take it any longer. "Look," he said, uncovering his head and shoulders, "that is really starting to creep me out. Would you _please_ stare somewhere else for a while?"

To his utter astonishment, the animal turned its skeletal face away from him, and began to gaze at the moon. Harry collapsed onto the ground and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. "_Think,_ Harry," he muttered. "Think think think!"

Seconds turned into more minutes as Harry stood and paced the wall up and down, running his fingers across the hard surface of what had once been some sort of animal feed warehouse, according to the faded paint about ten feet above his head. What was happening inside right now? Had they reached the room with the prophecies yet? They may even have smashed the shelves. It was difficult to say. It had been a rather long time ago, after all, and his memories of that part of the Ministry were fuzzy. Maybe they were running pell mell through the halls. Were they in the time turner room, or slashing those spinning doors? Merlin, he had to get in there. Stupid wards wouldn't let him find a door…

"Having a spot of difficulty, are we?"

Harry spun around in shock, crying out the stunning spell before he'd even noticed he'd drawn his wand. He felt the magic surge through his gloves and spit angrily from the tip of his wand, but the spell dissipated in moments, and he found himself staring into the twinkling blue eyes of none other than Albus Dumbledore himself.


	21. Chapter 16

A/N -BONUS! Two chapters in one day! I finally get a chance to write dialogue with Dumbledore, which is so much fun. Also, kudos to anybody who can point out the familiar conversation in the last chapter. Who knows where we've seen it before?

Enjoy! And keep the reviews and notes coming!

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Chapter 16 – Dumbledore's Request

Harry gasped.

"Sir! You're… early!"

"Am I?" said Dumbledore. "How nice. I always like to leave a little wiggle room, timewise, to prevent missing something, as I'm sure you remember from your little run-in with the Wizengamot this past fall." Oh yes, he remembered, although Dumbledore's "wiggle-room" at that time had been several hours. "But tell me, Harry, what is it exactly that I am early for?"

Harry looked down, unwilling to meet those eyes again. He was breaking laws as well as rules now, and wasn't particularly keen on admitting it. One thing he'd never been able to handle very well was Dumbedore's disappointment. Still, he'd already lost his secrecy, as Dumbledore was capable of seeing through the cloak, and if he said nothing, he might delay the headmaster from actually going in. This, right here, was why time travel was so strictly forbidden. Dumbledore seemed to read that sentiment in Harry's eyes.

"Meddling with time is a dangerous thing to do, Harry," he said sternly.

"Yes sir. I know, sir."

"Which leads me to believe that your reason for meddling with it so _grossly_ must be very important indeed." The old professor tipped his head and gazed at his former student over the top of his ubiquitous half-moon spectacles.

"Yes sir, but I can't really, I mean, there's not much time."

"Time? Time is no obstacle. I stopped it as soon as I saw you, believing as I did – and I think, correctly – that there was quite a story to be heard here. You see, I was under the impression that you were _inside_ the Ministry trying to get _out,_ and not _outside_ the Ministry trying to get _in."_ The eyes Harry had not seen alive for so long twinkled merrily. "Severus was quite adamant that you had rushed off to rescue Sirius. I must confess, I am somewhat intrigued by this turn of events."

"You stopped time?" Harry asked incredulously.

"It depends from which angle you are looking," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "From our perspective, once this conversation ends, we will be returned to the exact moment in time that it began. In this case, you could indeed say that I stopped it. However, if you were to observe us from over there," he waved his hand vaguely at a point to the side, "you would see a sort of multicolored blur of constant motion for a split second, which would be you and I. So you see, it is not so much that I have stopped time as that I have sped us up within it so that we may fall without it." He winked at Harry, who couldn't help but smile. "A useful trick, especially if one has a curiosity with being in two places at once, as I have."

Harry stared at his mentor, drinking in his words as a drowning man might gulp at a puddle. For the third time in only a few days he was faced with, and conversing with, a dearly loved person he knew to be dead. It was all a little bit too much, and he began to shake slightly. Dumbledore noticed this, and helpfully suggested that they sit down.

Once they were comfortable settled, Dumbledore said," Now, Harry, tell me what is going on."

"Well, sir," Harry gulped, "you see, I did go to try to save Sirius, but it turned out that it was me and not him that really needed saving, and he came to save me, and..."

"Died?" finished Dumbledore.

"He fell through the veil, sir," murmured Harry.

"And now you've come back to try again?"

"Yes sir. And for a good reason, sir."

"A good reason," said Dumbledore. "It could very well be a good reason to you, Harry, but I must ask you if you have put your personal feelings aside in this matter and considered the repercussions. For example, if Sirius dies, and then is suddenly walking around again like nothing happened, it could make things very awkward. Also, it could change your own history, your own past, which could alter the future you, and it could get very complicated very quickly."

"I am aware of that, Professor. I have in fact taken those things into account."

"Have you?" Dumbledore looked pleasantly surprised. "I assume you have a reliable plan, then?"

"Yes sir."

"Well that, at least, is an improvement from your first attempt," said Dumbledore. Harry winced.

"Well, it was a bit spur of the moment then, sir. I've had quite a long while to plan this out. And there's quite a bit more to it than saving Sirius. However important he is to me, I wouldn't be foolish enough to risk all of this simply for my own emotional gain. That would be both selfish and completely stupid."

Again, Dumbledore looked pleased. "I'm glad to hear it, Harry. It's good to see that you've grown and matured in the several years since you were last here. I look forward to seeing it happen in real time."

Harry's eyes widened and he sucked in a breath, but tried to cover it with a cough. Of course, Dumbledore wouldn't get to see Harry grow. He would die before the growth really started, but there was no way Harry could say that now, although it was weighing heavily on his heart. He schooled his expression into a sort of half grin, but he was sure the Headmaster's ever-watchful gaze hadn't missed his conflict. Harry tried to control the conversation again. "So, what do we do now? I'm clearly breaking the law, so you'd be aiding and abetting if you let me by, and I have full confidence that if you really wanted to stop me, you'd have no trouble."

Dumbledore gave a little _hmmm_ under his breath. "Well now, that is a bit of a puzzle, isn't it?" he said. "Of course, the laws must be upheld. But I have always believed that in times of dire circumstances, the need may arise to go beyond laws and regulations in order to bring about a positive change. The definition of a "positive change" can of course be argued any number of ways and from any number of viewpoints, but I tend to believe that your intentions, Harry, are almost always those that promote the betterment and well-being of our society and of the people in it. Knowing you as I do, I think it is fair to say that you have reached a point in the future where you have realized that you are no longer capable of bringing about change on your own. Perhaps there has been some great tragedy, or a shift in Voldemort's favor. I cannot say. But I do know the glint of desperation and determination when I see it. So I will ask you this: Is what you will gain from this, what the world will gain from this, enough that you would weigh the cost of the entire future against it? Are you willing to risk everyone in the wizarding world, and all the consequences that could befall from you making one small, but fatal mistake?"

Harry had already asked himself all these questions, so he knew his answer very well. "Professor Dumbledore," he said seriously, "I don't believe it's a risk at all, because if I don't succeed at this, then all those people won't have a future at all."

Dumbledore took in these words, and his expression became very grave. "That is a severe prediction, my boy. I think perhaps you may underestimate the human desire for a free future, and their ability to make it happen."

"With all due respect, sir, of the two of us sitting here, only one of us knows what I'm talking about. So at the moment, my experience outweighs your optimism."

Dumbledore looked momentarily taken aback, and he studied Harry more keenly than he had been all along. "I see," he said finally. "It would seem, then, that the decision has been made."

Harry breathed out in relief, until he remembered the reason why he was sitting out here in the first place. "There's only one problem, sir."

The twinkle returned. "You can't get in."

"Yes sir." Harry felt himself sink down a little under Dumbledore's appraising stare.

"Well, we'll have to fix that," the elderly professor said at last. He got to his feet and waved a hand in front of himself, and Harry felt his stomach drop as time slowed to its normal pace. Without another word, Dumbledore turned and walked along the wall. Harry followed, chiding himself a little for feeling like a schoolboy again. But then, he supposed, he always would be where this man was concerned, and no matter how old he got, Harry would never be able to stop calling him "sir."

When Dumbledore reached the far corner of the feedhouse, he stopped and turned around, waving his hand again. Harry's heart skipped a beat. "You just did the time thing again, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," Dumbledore replied. "You see, there is something else that has been bothering me. I would like to make a request of you, as an adult to an adult, since I feel there is no need for me to be giving you orders or instructions anymore."

Harry gulped. "What is that, sir?"

"Do not try to circumvent my death."

Harry gaped at him. "You… how did you know?"

"I merely had a suspicion until you confirmed it just now. You have been eyeing me with something akin to grief this whole time we've been speaking, and the moment I mentioned my eagerness to watch you grow up, you reacted as if you were in pain. You have always held your heart on your sleeve, my dear boy," the old man said fondly, "and so you are not difficult to read." He smiled, and then sobered quickly. "You see, Harry, I know all too well the desire to see those we love again after they have died. It is why I had the mirror of Erised so far removed from the population at Hogwarts, and also why I allowed my brother Aberforth to keep our sister's portrait at the Hog's Head. You and I, Harry, love fiercely and grieve deeply. It would be so easy, once you had successfully saved one person close to you, to try and save another, and another, but death is something that should not be toyed with so carelessly. I am an old man, and bound to make a fatal error at some point. Death is inevitable. I do not fear it, and I do not desire to avoid it. And so, I must ask you, do not attempt it. You are already crossing a line that ought not to be crossed, and I must impress upon you the gravity of that decision. Making it a second time would be more than unwise; it would be foolhardy. It would be naïve. It would be deadly. That is a road, Harry, which you must not start down. It has devoured many a strong-willed witch and wizard, and I would be greatly burdened if it were to claim you as well."

Harry nodded slowly. "I wasn't going to try, sir, to save you I mean," he said. "I think… I think I almost needed you to die, so I could wake up. I think what happened needed to happen in order to strengthen my will. I don't think I would have been able to accomplish what I have if I was always leaning on you. I needed to stand up on my own, and as long as you were there, I never really could." He gave a half-hearted smile. "I guess I'll just never know how you learned to speak Mermish, or any of those other things I wanted to ask you."

"Ah well, I can't say I'm disappointed about that," said Dumbledore with a chuckle, his previous stern manner dissipating like a puff of smoke in the wind.

"And why is that, sir?"

"Because," Dumbledore leaned in conspiratorially and tapped the side of his nose with an index finger, "my students wouldn't like me half as much of there wasn't an element of mystery about me, now would they?"

"Actually, sir," said Harry, struggling to keep a straight face, "I think your students like you because you're cracked."

A slow smile crept across the old man's face. "Let's just leave it that we agree they like me, shall we?"

"All right, sir," said Harry, grinning.

"Now then, I believe there is a large black dog requiring your assistance. We shouldn't leave him waiting any longer."

And with that, time resumed its natural course, and Dumbledore turned to a section of the wall that housed a small metal bulkhead, long rusted over from disuse. It opened with a loud creak to show a rickety stairway and a small cement storage area with a brick wall on the far end. Taking out his wand, Dumbledore tapped several bricks in a sequence, much the way Hagrid had done in Diagon Alley so many years ago, and the wall slid away to reveal the dark marble checkerboard floor of a Ministry corridor.

"It is always wise to know more than one way in and out of a building," said Dumbledore, and led Harry down the passage. "The Department of Mysteries should be straight ahead, then left, than another left, up the stairs and then on the right," he said, "In case you wanted to go on ahead."

Harry wanted to do exactly that. His footsteps echoed forebodingly in the hall as he hurried on towards the room with the veil. This route took him around most of the chaos from the battle, but he still saw some spell damage and broken glass as he ran. He skidded at last to a halt by the door he so desperately needed to find, but he couldn't go in. He could hear the battle raging, could hear familiar voices, but he also felt the ricochet of spells hitting the door, and didn't dare try to slip in not only unnoticed but unscathed. He'd have to wait for Dumbledore to catch up.

And catch up he did. Dumbledore came around the corner at a brisk walk, took in the sounds of battle, nodded to Harry, and burst through the door with the power of Merlin himself. Harry slipped in behind him, hugging the wall and holding his cloak tightly around himself. He knew it wouldn't take long for the Headmaster to clean up the mess. He saw Tonks fall and Bellatrix move off towards Neville, only to be intercepted by Sirius. He saw himself hauling Neville away, saw the prophecy twirl through the air, and Neville's horrified expression as it smashed on the stone. He saw Sirius make his last defiant stand and Bellatrix cast the final blow.

He closed his eyes. He didn't need to see this again, not when he knew it by heart from its repetition in his nightmares. But then, he couldn't shut out the sounds.

"Is that the best you can do?"

"_Nooo! Sirius!"_

"Harry, you can't help him…"

"He's NOT DEAD!"

And finally, just as he was beginning to think he would start screaming himself; "She killed Sirius! I'LL KILL HER!"

Crouched down on the stone, muffling the sound as best he could with the cloak, Harry felt rather than heard Bellatrix swish by through a door, cackling in perverted joy. And then there were his own footsteps hot in pursuit, and for the first time Harry became aware of the surge of power that followed him. The walls seemed to shudder as he ran by, and there was an unnatural silence for a few seconds after he'd passed by before Harry became aware that there was still action in the room he was in. This was something he had not been witness to before. It exploded around his ears.

"Idiot boy, what good is he against her right now?" came Moody's growl. "He's too angry. He'll have no control."

"Tonks! Tonks, are you all right? Say something!" That was Kingsley.

"Shacklebolt, take her to St. Mungo's, and get yourself looked to as well!"

"Remus, Remus come on, let's go. Leave him." Moody again, being uncharacteristically gentle.

"I can't…"

"You must. Think about Harry right now."

"Oh Merlin, Harry! Dumbledore, you have to do something!"

"I want everyone out of this room, now!"

"Ha, so you finally got your comeuppance, Malfoy."

"Don't sound so smug. This is far from over."

"It is for you!"

The room emptied quickly, until the only two people left were Harry and Dumbledore. The wise old wizard turned and looked at the boy crouched by the door. "Move quickly, and do not be seen," he said.

"Thank you sir, for everything."

Dumbledore nodded, and was gone with only a swish of his robe. Harry sped to the veil, uncorking his little bottle of potion as he went and downing it in a single gulp. He did not look back again. The potion burned, and seemed to move far too slowly down his throat, forcing Harry to swallow four or five times before he was fully confident it wouldn't come back up. Still, it didn't take away the uncomfortable sensation of a glutinous substance coating his insides. The feeling spread throughout his body until even the very tips of his fingers and toes were tingling with it. With shaking hands, Harry pulled a thin, sturdy piece of magically enhanced rope from an inner pocket on his robes and tied it securely around his waist and one of the columns supporting the domed roof of the room. He could barely feel his fingers by the time he'd finished securing the knots. The potion had caused a deathlike chill to attack his limbs, and he sank painfully to his knees before the veil, gasping for air. The potion would protect him from what he found on the other side of the veil, his mother had said, but he hadn't considered that it might also make living painful. And so, in his building agony, he did the only thing that made sense in his swirling mind: he leaned forward and plunged his head and torso into the warm blackness beyond the veil.

Many miles away, and some five years in the future, the man once known as Tom Riddle awoke with a start from a very strange dream.


	22. Chapter 17

A/N - Hello! Wow, three updates in a month. That's practically a record for me. And this is a long chapter, too! We're getting into it now, it's picking up and everything is going to start to fall into place. I discovered that the most difficult person for me to write is Voldemort. I rewrote his lines a couple times and I still don't really like how they sound, but they'll do. Last chapter I got to write Dumbledore, which was really fun, and this one I got to write Snape.

A warm and grateful thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. It is such an encouraging and motivating boost to hear your thoughts. It really has helped me keep moving forward with this, as well. So please keep talking to me!

Also, this has not been beta'ed, and I typed it up very late at night, so please forgive any typos.

Love and muggles!

* * *

Chapter 17 – In the Presence of the Dark Lord

Severus Snape was still massaging his aching forearm as he apparated into the clearing where the Death Eaters were gathering. He quickly glanced around, taking stock of the situation. Everyone else looked just as mystified as he felt, and there were nervous whispers from behind every mask. It was not the first time they had been summoned at a strange hour, but there were no current plans being implemented, had been no discussions of strikes or raids, nothing that would suggest any imminent action. At least, not that would require a summons at three o'clock in the morning. In the dull moonlight, Severus could just make out the squat, unassuming stone hut at the far end of the clearing that housed the door to Voldemort's own portable base of operations. In the center of the wall facing him, there was a dull-colored door set back in the stone, and no windows anywhere to be seen. So far, there was no sign of the Dark Lord himself, but Severus – who was not one to be easily shaken – could feel a chill on the back of his neck and cold beads of perspiration beginning to pepper his forehead as he drew closer.

"Strange, isn't it?" said a soft voice by his ear. Lucius had grown better at sneaking up behind people since his stint in Azkaban, and had crept up behind Severus with the stealth of a wildcat and now stood watching him carefully with those unnerving gray eyes.

"It is," Severus conceded with a slight nod. "Is there yet any indication as to the purpose of this meeting? _I_ was hoping to get a full night's sleep for once. It is the summer holiday, after all, and I am free from the beck and call of those prepubescent basket cases I am forced to supervise during the year."

"No word yet," responded Lucius. "But then, our lord has not been very forthcoming of late, so I am not sure what you were expecting."

"I expect nothing. I wish for many things."

"How very deep of you, Severus. I do believe the old crackpot Headmaster has rubbed off on you more than you admit."

Severus gave a malicious sneer. "Do not bait me, Lucius. You may be several years my senior, but I am faster on the draw."

Lucius laughed hollowly. "Threats, my old friend?"

"I would not be foolish enough to curse you in the Dark Lord's presence."

The conversation was cut short as Peter Pettigrew apparated right between them, his robes thrown hastily over his nightclothes, his mask hanging from his fingers, and his eyes heavy. He gave a frightened squeak as he realized next to whom he had materialized, and skittered away, followed by Lucius's disdainful sniffs.

"Of all the nincompoops to have survived this long," he murmured. "Honestly, I'd hoped he would have been picked off long ago. He does irritate me."

Severus didn't answer. He was too occupied scanning the growing number of black-robed figures, identifying them as well as he could while their faces were covered. In the past few years, Voldemort's followers had grown in number by leaps and bounds, but the level of skill and experience had greatly deteriorated. There were only a small handful of the original members left now – Lucius, himself, Bellatrix and Rabastan Lestrange, the Carrows, and Pettigrew among them – and the rest of the circle was made up of mostly the young, power-hungry, foolish idiots that Hogwarts itself had spat out in contempt, and their parents. The younger recruits were too brazen, too green, and tended to get picked off easily, but there were always more idealistic morons ready to take their place, and so the circle of Death Eaters seemed always to have grown when Severus returned to it. Some of the current Death Eaters may or may not have been linked to the Mongrels at one time or another, but nobody seemed to pay much heed to that. The Mongrels had their uses, and there were spies in their ranks as well.

Severus pondered the current Death Eaters, the hum of their excited muttering rippling through the still air. On the far side of the clearing, the stone hut was still and silent, heavily fortified with wards as always, bit somehow a little more forbidding tonight than it had seemed before. To the young ones, this surprise summons was a thrill, a chance to be heroic and prove themselves to be worthy of the Dark Lord's trust. Severus scoffed under his breath. In a few month's time, there would be a fifty percent turnover, because these imbeciles served more as an advertisement for the growth of Voldemort's intimidation and power than they did as any valuable fighting force.

"Such a mockery," he muttered.

"What was that?" asked Lucius, who was inexplicably still standing next to him.

"This current crop of… minions. Half of these children barely know which way to hold a wand. It's a mockery of what it used to be."

"Ah, but they do serve a purpose, do they not, Severus?" Lucius smiled. "After all, the more of them are here, the more of their little friends and allies will follow, eagerly lining up to replace them when they inevitably die. And the more of them are trying to ingratiate themselves _here_, the fewer of them will be joining the _others_. Which of course means –"

"Your logic is dizzying," commented Severus. "I can barely keep up. However do you manage carrying such wise thoughts in your head? It must be exhausting for you."

Lucius's smile curled into an ugly grimace. "Watch your tongue, Severus. Do not forget which of us has been finding favor with our lord of late. I am the more trusted servant –"

"Oh, are you a servant now, Lucius?" Severus cut him off again. "Congratulations. A well-deserved step up for you. Narcissa must be thrilled." And he swept away to his position on the other side of the clearing, leaving Lucius doing a passable imitation of a steaming teapot behind him.

The circle had contained nearly a hundred robed men and women when the door to the stone house burst open, and Voldemort stood before them with his nostrils flared and eyes glowing red, a fierce, almost joyful fire burning within. Severus was immediately on alert. Something had happened; something Voldemort was very, very happy about, and that did not bode well at all for the Order or those who allied with them.

"My dear friends," Voldemort spoke into the stillness that had fallen the instant he had appeared. "This is an auspicious day." He walked slowly forward, and as he spoke, he passed by each person, touching a robe or a hand here, making eye contact there. "Today we shall turn the tide of this war and move towards our inevitable victory, as our foes part before us. Today, we shall reach the enemy's hearts and chill them with fear. They are clinging to their small, insignificant hope and we shall snatch it away from them at last." He smiled, pale lips stretching across a pale face most unpleasantly. "For nearly four years now they have struggled against us, but they have failed. They have brought down many of our comrades, true, but they have lost their hero, their strongest soldiers have been scattered and separated, many have lost their lives, or their sanity. And we still stand here, together, united." He turned and addressed the circle with his arms raised. "We have been waiting for a moment to strike, and it has come. My friends, my Death Eaters, I have seen our victory."

There was a murmur in the ranks, as many minds processed these words and tried to make sense of them.

"My Lord," came a voice from somewhere among the younger recruits, "what happened? Was there a battle? Have we captured someone?" His voice rose in excitement. "Do we get to fight?"

It was evidence of just how cheerful Voldemort was that he did not strike down the hapless youth who had interrupted him, but instead gave a slight chuckle. "Oh, my boy, nothing like that." He took a moment to cast his eyes over his crowd of rapt followers before speaking again. "You are all aware, I think, of my connection with Harry Potter's mind." Severus's head snapped up. "For some time, I have been able to sense him, as he has been able to sense me, in moments of great tension or crisis when he lowers his guard. It was some time ago that the boy was captured and tortured by our… compatriots, and it was believed that he had been killed. I have never believed this." Voldemort began to pace again, his eyes gleaming. "It has been my belief that he has been hiding, like the coward he is, licking his wounds while his so-called friends attempt to oppose us. The fool. As if he could ever truly hide from me." He threw back his head and laughed, and a few of the braver Death Eaters chortled a bit as well.

Severus's head was reeling now. For over a year, the Order had been searching, hoping, and dreading. They had found the location where the Mongrels had taken Potter. They had found the room where he had been held, and evidence of the torture he had suffered, but Potter himself they had not found. The Mongrels had destroyed their own hideout and fled into the forest, but they had been few in number, and Potter had not been with them. The general consensus was that he had to have been moved, until they managed to capture one of his captors: a slimy, tall man named Horace Grood, whose chilling tale had left his heartbroken listeners with little doubt of the Chosen One's fate.

"You shoulda heard 'im screamin'," the man growled. "He was beggin' to die, 'e was, beggin' fer us ta end it fer 'im, but we wasn't about ta do that. Sure, we figgered 'e probably didn't know what we was askin', but who cares? It was fun. We skewered the bleedin' Boy 'oo Lived, made 'im cry like a little baby. We burned 'is hands, took 'is magic from 'im, and there weren't nobody to hear 'im yellin' out, nobody to save 'im. We drove 'im to despair, and when we was bored of it," Grood smiled a horrid, brown, toothy smile, "we left 'im in a cage to starve 'isself to death."

Indeed, there had been a cage, and there had been the mangled remains of a body inside it, but until the moment Grood spoke the words, nobody had dared consider that they had been too late. The body itself had gone up in flames with the rest of the hideout, so there was no hope in finding out for sure.

But now, Voldemort was indicating that he had some proof that Potter was still alive. At least, it seemed that was where this absurdly lengthy speech was headed. Severus focused all his attention on Voldemort's words. If Potter was alive, he needed to be able to relay as much information as possible through the secure channels, so that there was some chance the Order would get to the boy first.

Voldemort was clearly nearing the end of his monologue. "For some time I have sensed bits and pieces while I slept, disconnected images that could have been dreams or visions. But now I can tell you there is no doubt in my mind," he turned to face them all and lowered his voice to a near whisper, the resonance of which was still enough to fill the space, "Harry Potter is very much alive." His eyes glittered with malice. "And I know exactly where to find him."

It wasn't until nearly an hour later that Severus got home, apparating into his neat study with a troubled expression on his face. Voldemort had not been entirely forthcoming at the meeting about _how_ he knew where Potter was, or what else he may have learned in his visions, but he had been adamant that he _did_ know. According to him, he had seen the boy wandering the hills near London, apparently looking for something, and that he had slept there in a sort of outcropping, and intended to return to it as a sort of home base. Voldemort had indicated that Potter had been alone, tired, and possibly ill or injured, but that he did not seem to have contacted the Order or any of his friends. Voldemort saw this as evidence of cowardice and weakness, Severus was merely thoughtful.

"He will be there still," the Dark Lord had said, "I am certain of it. Where he has been until now, I cannot say, but it is of little consequence."

A team had been organized to scout out the area – four young pawns of low intelligence and less skill – and they had left almost immediately after the meeting had been adjourned. Voldemort had then drawn Severus aside. The Potions Master, despite the urgency of the situation, could not help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at the look of fury on Lucius's face when the older man was waved away from the conversation.

"Severus, my most faithful servant," Voldemort hissed, "I have something very interesting to tell you." They entered the stone house, and Severus had heard the improbable, completely mad idea that Voldemort's connection with Potter may have spanned more than just distance. "He was as old as he should be, Severus, but the time did not match up."

"What do you mean, my lord?"

"I mean," and Voldemort looked almost manic in his excitement, "I believe he is meddling, Severus. I believe he is trying to change the past."

Change the past? What sort of half-baked, fantastical codswallop was that? He had traveled back in time? For what purpose? It had only been a few years, perhaps to 1995 when the boy was fifteen. What was so important to change at that point? Severus shook his head and draped his black robe over a chair. The only thing he could think of was that Harry was going to attempt to save his flea-bitten godfather.

"Preposterous," he spat. Even if Potter were to succeed, it would do no good. That mutt had no extraordinary talent, and couldn't get around Voldemort's alchemically induced immortality and more than Weasley could. What was more, the risks inherent in time-travel were too great to tamper with. It was a show of stupidity that pushed even Potter's limits of sanity and intelligence.

"There is nothing he can possibly do, Severus. It is a desperate man's act. Don't you see?" Voldemort grasped the Potion Master's arm with his bony fingers. "Even Potter himself, the eternal optimist, has given up. Even he realizes there is nothing to be done. I have already won, Severus. And soon, I will have him here, and I will kill him, and send his body in pieces to his dear friends, and show them that I am a vengeful lord. And they will come to me and plead for their lives, and I may have mercy, and allow them to live in my world, my better world. Soon, Severus. It will all happen soon. Can you feel it?"

Indeed, he could. For some time he had felt it. Voldemort had discovered the secret at last, a way to render himself invincible, if not yet entirely immortal. There was nobody alive who could do anything against him.

And yet, what if it were true? What if Potter really had discovered something, and was now at that very location, hiding out? A tiny flicker of hope was kindled in the man's heart. Surely, Potter wouldn't have been so foolish as to attempt such risky time-travel just to save Black. It had to be something else. Was Black with him, then? No, it was impossible. Black would never have been able to keep himself hidden, not for five years. So Potter had failed in that one endeavor, if he had indeed attempted it in the first place. Either way…

Severus strode to the fireplace and threw in a pinch of floo powder. He waited until it burned out, then repeated the process twice more, calling out random locations and snuffing the fires almost immediately. With the fifth pinch, he called out "In Memoriam," and stuck his head into the flames.

Almost immediately the smell of baked goods and fireplace ash hit his nostrils, and the polished stone floors of the Hogwarts kitchens swam into view, and for a moment it seemed the room was deserted. Severus had expected this, however, and waited patiently for a few moments until he heard the pitter-patter of tiny bare feet on the stone. He soon found himself staring at the tennis ball eyes and bat-like ears of a small house elf.

"Sir is calling for Betsy?" the little elf squeaked, her ears pivoting this way and that like radar dishes.

"Yes," Severus said stiffly. He had yet to get used to this form of communication. "I need to send a message to the Order, whoever you can reach."

Betsy quivered in excitement. "Is it an important message, sir?"

"Of course it is, elf. Did you think I had stuck my head through here simply to talk to you?"

Betsy let out an obnoxiously shrill giggle. "Sir is making a joke! Betsy is happy to be helping sir with his message."

"Yes, yes, fine." Severus spoke quickly, giving as much detail as he could remember from the meeting. The floos to the Hogwarts kitchens were the only ones that were reliably clear of eavesdroppers, and even then only when one followed many precautions before connecting. A handful of house elves with very sharp memories served as the operators for what had become a very large, very complicated communication hub based out of a small storage room with three fireplaces. The Order members rarely saw each other's faces, but this way they were able to speak just the same. This room and its fireplaces were monitored 24/7 by house elves who were prepared to relay any and all communication needs. There were dozens of safe houses all around the country, the locations of which were known only by those who lived inside them, but each had a fireplace that worked on only one connection – to the Hogwarts kitchens. Any urgent communication between particular Order members was done with Patronuses.

Severus finished his message, and Betsy hopped up and began bouncing on her toes and twitching her ears. "Betsy understands sir! Good news! It is good news sir! Mr. Harry Potter may be alive!" She clapped her hands. "Betsy will send the message right away sir, but it may take time."

"Why is that?"

"Interference, sir. The Mongrels have put up wards. It is difficult to reach the Order, sir, but Betsy will do it. Betsy will do it, sir!"

"Don't mention my name. There are those who still haven't gotten over the incident with Dumbledore."

"Betsy remembers, sir!" The elf trilled another laugh and pulled out the sides of her pleated skirt in a quick curtsy. "Betsy remembers _everything_!" And then she was gone. Severus pulled his head out of the fire. His job was done. Betsy would contact someone from the Order, and a team would be sent to the location Voldemort had given, but they wouldn't interfere unless necessary. Revealing Severus as a spy at this point, especially if Potter wasn't even there, would be disastrous, not the least for Severus himself.

He pushed himself up off the floor and headed to bed, determined to put it out of his mind, at least for the rest of the night. There was nothing more he could do, and he could already tell he would need to be at 100% on the morrow, come what may.

There was hardly even a rustle to be heard as the small group of Death Eaters crept through the underbrush. If there was one thing this group knew how to do, it was stalk prey and strike silently. It was why they had been chosen for this task. Up ahead they could see the dark maw of a cavern, just where the Dark Lord had said it would be. Theodore Nott sucked in a breath. It really was here, and judging by the glow emanating from the cave's opening, so was Potter. If what the Mongrels had reported was true, than Potter should be nearly incapable of performing magic, but Nott remembered Potter from school. He remembered how things always seemed to go in his favor, how luck was on his side, and he had warned his fellows to be cautious. The boy-who-lived could be unpredictable, so the goal was to assess the situation, capture him as quickly as possible, stun him and bind him, and return him to the Dark Lord immediately.

Five bodies hurried to either side of the entrance, and the first quickly faded into the rock and peered around the side. He waved the others in, and they crept silently down a deceptively steep pass and around a corner. The light was always faint, but always clear, and they crept deeper inside, never coming any closer to it. At last, the passage opened up into a main cavern. It was quite spacious, and had obviously been excavated to make it livable. There were shelves carved into the rocks, and a rough table was leaned against one wall next to a roll of blankets. In the center of the room, settled on the floor with his profile lit up by a merrily burning fire, was Potter himself. He looked older, somewhat haggard, and there was a deep scar running across his jawline. He was slumped next to the fire with his hands on his lap, clearly unarmed, and lost in thought. It appeared as if he didn't even know there was anyone there. There was a deep sadness in his eyes, Nott noticed, and he felt a pang for a moment at the realization that they had been boys together and were both ultimately human, but he shoved it down in disgust, and moved towards his target.

The group had nearly reached Potter's location when he startled them by speaking. "I know you're there," he said in a resigned tone. "I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone found me."

The Death Eaters looked at one another and removed their disillusionments. Potter glanced up and examined each of their faces. Nott he recognized, and some other thin-faced girl from Slytherin – Ebony, he believed her name was. The other three were strangers to him.

"Where's your wand, Potter?" said Ebony sharply.

Potter raised an eyebrow. "I'm not carrying it," he said.

The round, pig-eyed man in the back snorted. "You think we'll believe that?"

"Summon it if you like," said Potter, raising his arms. "I'm sure the Mongrels told you, though, that it wouldn't do me any good unless one of you wanted to swordfight."

"So it's true," Nott breathed. "You can't do magic anymore."

Potter shrugged and looked back at the fire. "It hardly matters. It's five-on-one anyway."

Piggy-eyes laughed. "You're just a squib! Nothing but a pathetic squib!" He took a bold step forward, and reaching his arm out as far as it would go, poked Potter rudely in the shoulder. Potter looked curiously down where he'd been touched, a burn mark appearing in the material of his shirt. Piggy-eyes got a little braver, and poked him again, this time in the face. Potter hissed a bit and shuffled sideways out of range.

Nott was carefully scanning the room. He hadn't sensed anyone else when they came up, and there was clearly nobody else in the room. There wasn't even evidence of another person. The Dark Lord had been right. Potter was alone, despairing, and defenseless. It was almost too perfect to be enjoyable. He grinned. No matter. He'd take it for what it was.

"I think you know what's going to happen now, Potter," he said, advancing. "The Dark Lord is waiting for you. I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about." He grinned wider.

Potter didn't respond. He just sighed and pulled his knees up to his chest. "Whatever."

Piggy-eyes and the dark-skinned man next to him moved forward around the fire, but Potter crouched and moved a little further away in the other direction. The dark-skinned man jumped forward and aimed a punch at Potter's head, which he only narrowly avoided. Ebony huffed. "I don't see why you're even trying to get away now," she sneered. "Like you said, it's five-on-one, and you can't do any magic." She raised her wand. "You don't have a chance by yourself."

Potter looked up at her and held her gaze with resignation in his eyes. Ebony felt a swell of triumph and opened her mouth to shout a spell, something to cause him pain, to make him scream like he did for the mongrels.

Her smile died on her lips as she suddenly felt a wand pressed to her temple. She turned in shock, and found Piggy-eyes staring at her in horror, his hand out of his control, leveled straight at her face. She cried out for someone to help, to tell her what was happening, but the dark-skinned man was on the floor, Nott seemed suddenly unable to move after taking only a single step, and the one who had been stationed at the entrance to the room was walking, pale as a ghost, towards her with a dark shape holding him firmly from behind.

"As for that," the shape said, as Potter stood up and dusted himself off, "I guess it's good that he's not alone, then."

* * *

A/N - Go to my profile now and take the poll about who showed up here!


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